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HARVARD COLLEGE 
LIBRARY 




BOUGHT WITH 

MONEY RECEIVED FROM 

UBEARY FINES 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

The Unclassed 

In the Year of Jubilee 

The Odd Women 

Eve's Ransom 

The Whirlpool 

Born in Exile 

The Town Traveller 



THE 



ROWN OF LIFE 



BY 

GEORGE GISSING 



METHUEN & CO, 

36 ESSEX STREET, W.C. 

LONDON 

1899 



^jy-; ^'^r>> 



X 




^ 



\^VV5L- ^/W Cr i^^JL^J 




THE CROWN OF LIFE 



CHAPTER 1 



^H|mID the throng of suburban amvals volleyed forth from 

^^P- Waterloo Station on a May morning in the year '86, 

\ moved a slim, dark, absent-looking young man of one-and- 

iwenty, whose name was Piers Otway. In regard to costume 

— blameless silk hat, and dark morning coat with lighter 
trousers — the City would not have disowned him, but he had 
not the City countenance. The rush for omnibus seats left 
,iTii unconcerned; clear of the railway station, he walked at 
.1 moderate pace, his eyes mostly on the ground ; he crossed 

I ihe foot-bridge lo Charing Cross, and steadily made his way 

I into the Haytnarket, where his progress was arrested by a 
picture shop. 
A window hung with engravings, mostly after pictures of the 
iljy ; some of ihem very large, and attractive to a passing 
.iance. One or two admirable landscapes offered solace to 
: le street-wearied imagination, but upon these Piers Otway 
;;'i not fix his eye; it was drawn irresistibly to the faces and 
J rms of beautiful women set forth with varied allurement. 

- ume great lady of the passing time lounged in exquisite array 
-mid luxurious furniture lightly suggested; the faint smile of 
i. r flattered loveliness hovered about the gazer; the subtle 

'.-rfunie of her presence touched his nerves ; the greys of her 
jmplexion transmuted themselves through the current of his 
i/lood into hfe's tarnation ; whilst he dreamed upon her lips, 

I his breath was caught, as though of a sudden she had smiled 
for him, and for him alone. Near to her was a maiden of 
Hellas, resting upon a marble seat, her eyes bent towards 
some ^gean is!e; the translucent robe clung about her 



2 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

perfect body; her breast was warm against the white stone; 
the mazes of her woven hajj shone with imguent. The gazer 
lost himself in memories of epic and idyll, warming through 
worship to desire. Then his look strayed to the next engrav- 
ing ; a peasant girl, consummate in grace and strength, supreme 
in chaste pride, cheek and neck soft-glowing from the sunny 
field, eyes revealing the heart at one with nature. Others 
there were, women of many worlds, only less beautiful; but 
by these three the young man was held bound. He could not 
satisfy himself with looking and musing ; he could not pluck 
himself away. An old experience ; he always lingered by the 
print shops of the Haymarket, and always went on with 
troubled blood, with mind rapt above familiar circumstance, 
dreaming passionately, making wild forecast of his fate. 

At this hour of the morning not many passers had leisure to 
stand and gaze ; one, however, came to a pause beside Piers 
Otway, and viewed the engravings. He was a man consider- 
ably older; not so well dresse(^ but still, on the strength of 
externals, entitled to the style of gentleman ; his brown, hard 
felt hat was entirely respectable, as were his tan gloves and 
his boots, but the cut-away coat began to hint at release from 
service, and the trousers owed a superficial smartness merely 
to being tightly strapped. This man had a not quite agreeable 
face; inasmuch as it was smoothly shaven, and exhibited a 
peculiar mobility, it might have denoted him an actor; but 
the actor is wont to twinkle a good-natured mood which did 
not appear upon this visage. The contour was good, and 
spoke intelligence ; the eyes must once have been charming. 
It was a face which had lost by the advance of years ; which 
had hardened where it was soft, and seemed likely to grow 
harder yet; for about the lips, as he stood examining these 
pictures, came a suggestion of the vice in blood which tends 
to cruelty. The nostrils began to expand and to tremble a 
little ; the eyes seemed to project themselves ; the long throat 
grew longer. Presently, he turned a glance upon the young 
man standing near to him, and in that moment his expression 
entirely altered. 

" Why," he exclaimed, " Piers ! " 

The other gave a start of astonishment, and at once smiled 
recognition. 

« Daniel ! I hadn't looked — I had no idea " — 

ook hands, with graceful cordiality on the elder 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 3 

man's part, with a slightly embarrassed goodwill on that of 
the younger. Daniel Otway, whose age was about eight-and- 
thirty, stood in the relation of half- brotherhood to Piers, a 
relation su^ested by no single trait of their visages. Piers 
had a dark complexion, a face of the square, emphatic type, 
and an eye of shy vivacity; Daniel, with the long, smooth 
curves of his countenance and his chestnut hair, was, in the 
common sense, better looking, and managed his expression 
with a skill which concealed the characteristics visible a few 
moments ago ; he bore himself like a suave man of the world, 
whereas his brother still betrayed something of the boy in tone 
and gesture, something, too, of the student accustomed to 
seclusion. Daniel's accent had nothing at all in keeping with 
a shabby coat ; that of the younger man was less markedly 
refined, with much more of individuality. 

"You live in London?" inquired Daniel, reading the other's 
look as if affectionately. 

" No. Out at Ewell— in Surrey." 

" Oh yes, I know Ewell. Reading ? " 

"Yes, for the Civil Service. I've come up to lunch with a 
man who knows father — Mr, Jacks." 

"John Jacks, the M.P.P" 

Piers nodded nervously, and the other regarded him with a 
smile of new interest. 

" But you're very early. Any other engagements ? " 

"None," said Piers. It being so fine a morning, he had 
purposed a long ramble about London streets before making 
for his destination in the West End. 

"Then you must come to my club," returned Daniel. "I 
shall be glad of a talk with you, very glad, my dear boy- 
Why, it must be four years since we saw each other. And, 
by the bye, you are just of age, I think ? " 

"Three days ago." 

"To be sure. Heard anything from father? — No? — You're 
looking very well, Pieis — take my arm. I understood you were 
going mlo business. Altered your mind? And how is the 
dear old man?" 

They walked for a quarter of an hour, turning at last into a 
quiet, genteel byway westward of Regent Street, and so into 
a. club house of respectable appearance. Daniel wtate. tis. 
brother's name, and led up to the smoVvtv^-TQcsm, NCKifia "Cwe^ 
found unoccupied. 



4 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

"You smoke? — I am very glad to hear it. I began far too 
young, and have suffered. It's too early to drink — and perhaps 
you don't do that either ? — Really ? Vegetarian also, perhaps ? 
— ^Why, you are the model son of your father. And the regime 
seems to suit you. Per Bacco! I couldn't follow it myself: 
but I, like our fat friend, am little better than one of the 
wicked. — So you are one-and-twenty. You have entered upon 
your inheritance, I presume ? " 

Piers answered with a look of puzzled inquiry, 

"Haven't you heard about it? The little capital due to 
you." 

" Not a word ! " 

" That's odd. Was soil es bedeuten ? — By the bye, I suppose 
you speak German well ? " 

"Tolerably." 

"And French?" 

" Moderately." 

^^Benissimof" Daniel had just lit a cigar; he lounged 
gracefully, observing his brother with an eye of veiled keenness. 
" Well, I think there is no harm in telUng you that you are 
entitled to something — your mother's money, you know." 

"I had no idea of it," replied Piers, whom the news had in 
some degree excited. 

"Apropos, why don't you live with father? Couldn't you 
read as well down there ? " 

"Not quite, I think, and — the truth is, the stepmother 
doesn't much like me. She's rather difficult to get on with, 
you know." 

" I imagined it. Sq y9u're just in lodgings ? " 

" I am with some people called Hannaford. I got to know 
them at Geneva — they're not very well off; I have a room and 
they board mq." 

" I must look you up there. — Piers, my dear boy, I suppose 
you know your mother's history ? " 

It was asked with an affected carelessness, with a look 
suggestive of delicacy in approaching the subject. More and 
more perturbed. Piers abruptly declared his ignorance ; he sat 
in an awkward attitude, bending forward ; his brows were knit, 
his dark eyes had a solemn intensity, and his square jaw 
asserted itself more than usual. 

"Well, between brothers, I don't see why you shouldn't. 
In fact, I am a good deal surprised that the>wbrthy old man 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 5 

has held his peace about that legacy, and 1 don't think I shall 
scruple to lei! you all I know. You are aware, at all events, 
that our interesting parent has been a little unfortunate in his 
matrimonial ventures. His first wife — not to pick one's phrase 
—quarrelled furiously with him. His second, you inform me, 
is somewhat difficult to live with." 

" His third" interrupted Piers. 

" No, my dear boy," said the other gravely, sympathetically. 
" That intermediate connection was not legal." 

" Not — ? My mother was not — ? " 

" Don't worry about it," proceeded Danie! in a kind lone. 
"These are the merest prejudices, you know. She could not 
become Mrs. Otway, being already Mrs. Somebody-else. Her 
death, I fear, was a great misfortune to our parent. I have 
gathered that they suited each other — fate, you know, plays 
these little tricks. Your mother, I am sure, was a most 
charming and admirable woman^I remember her portrait. 
"A thenre gu'il esl, no doubt, it has to be kept out of sight. 
She had, I am given to understand, a trifling capital of her 
own, and this was to become yours." 

Piers stared at vacancy. When he recovered himself he said 
with decision : 

"Of course I shall hear about it. There's no hurry. 
Father knows I don't want it just now. Why, of course he 
will tell me. The exam, comes off in autumn, and no doubt 
he keeps the news back as a sort of reward when I get my 
place. I think that would be just hke him, you know." 

" Or as a solatium, if you fail," remarked the other genially. 

" Fail ? Oh, I'm not going to fail," cried Piers in a voice of 
half-resentful confidence. 

"Bravo!" laughed the other; "I like that spirit, — So 
you're going to lunch with John Jacks. 1 don't exactly know 
him, but I know friends of his very well. Known him 

Piers explained that as yet he had no personal acquaintance 
with Mr. Jacks ; that he had, to his surprise, received a written 
invitation a few days ago. 

" It may be useful," Daniel remarked reQectively. " But, if 
you'll permit the liberty, Piers, I am sorry you didn't pay a 
Utile more attention to costume. It should have been a frock 

K -really it should." 
bayen't such a thing," excV^mei "Ctva ■jqm.v.>{,«. '^v'^'^'^i 



6 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

with some annoyance and confusion. "And what can it 
matter? You know very well how father would go." 

" Yes, yes ; but Jerome Otway the democratic prophet and 
young Mr. Piers Otway his promising son, are very different 
persons. Never mind, but take care to get a frock coat; you'll 
find it indispensable if you are going into that world. Where 
does Jacks live ? " 

" Queen's Gate." 

Daniel Otway meditated, half closing his eyes as he seemed 
to watch the smoke from his cigar. Dropping them upon his 
brother, he found that the young man wore a look of troubled 
thoughtfulness. 

"Daniel," began Piers suddenly, "are you quite sure about 
all you have told me ? " 

" Quite. I am astonished it's news to you." 

Piers was no longer able to converse, and very soon he 
found it difficult to sit still. Observant of his face and 
movements, the elder brother proposed that they should 
resume their walk together, and forth they went But both 
were now taciturn, and they did not walk far in company. 

" I shall look you up at Ewell," said Daniel, taking leave. 
" Address me at that club ; I have no permanent quarters just 
now. We must see more of each other." 

And Piers went his way with shadowed countenance. 







STRAYING about Kensington Gardens in the pleasant 
sunshine, his mind occupied with Daniel's information, 
Piers Otway lost count of time, and at last had to hurry lo 
keep his engagement. As he entered the house in Queen's 
Gate, a mirrored image of himself made him uneasy about his 
costume. But for Daniel, such a point would never have 
troubled hira. It was with an unfamiliar sense of irritation 
and misgiving that he moved into the drawing-room, 

A man of sixty or so, well preserved, with a warm complexion, 
broad homely countenance, and genial smile, stepped forward 
to receive him. Mr, Jacks was member for the Penistone 
Division of the West Riding ; new to Parliament, having 
entered with the triumphant Liberals in the January of this 
year 1886. His friends believed, and it seemed credibly 
that he had sought election to please the lady whom, as a 
widower of twenty years' endurance, he had wedded only a 
short time before; politics interested him but moderately, 
and the greater part of his life had been devoted to the 
manufacturing business which brought him wealth and local 
influence. Not many people remembered that in the days of 
his youth John Jacks had been something of a Revolutionist, 
that he had supported the People's Charter ; that he had 
written, nay had published, verses of democratic tenor, earning 
thereby dark reputation in the respectable society of his native 
town, The turning-point was his early marriage. For a while 
he stili wrote verses — of another kind, but he ceased to talk 
about liberty, ceased to attend public meetings, and led an 
entirely private life until, years later, his name became 
reputably connected with municipal affairs, Observing Mr. 
Jacks' face, one saw the possibility of that early enthusiasm ; 
lie had fine eyes full of subdued tenderness, and something 
youthful, impulsive, in his expression 'stictv Vl^ xw^siA -a. 
Good-humoured, often iinetf^, s^<a\w\&w'{,'-«^'^''^*'" 



^jmight 



8 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

ness and generosity, he passed for a man as happy as he was 
prosperous ; yet those who talked intimately with him obtained 
now and then a glimpse of something not quite in harmony 
with these characteristics, a touch of what would be called 
fancifulness, of uncertain spirits. Men of his world knew that 
he was not particularly shrewd in commerce ; the great business 
to which his name was attached had been established by his 
father, and was kept flourishing mainly by the energy of his 
younger brother. As an occasional lecturer before his towns- 
folk, he gave evidence of wide reading and literary aptitudes. 
Of three children of his first marriage, two had (£ed; his 
profound grief at their loss, and the inclination for domestic 
life which always appeared in the man, made it matter for 
surprise that he had waited so long before taking another wife. 
It would not have occurred to most of those who knew him 
that his extreme devotion to women made him shy, diffident, 
all but timorous in their presence. But Piers Otway, for all 
his mental disturbance at this moment, remarked the singular 
deference, the tone and look of admiring gentleness, with 
which Mr. Jacks turned to his wife as he presented their 
guest. 

Mrs. Jacks was well fitted to inspire homage. Her age 
appeared to be less than five-and-twenty ; she was of that 
tall and gracefully commanding height which has become the 
English ideal in the last quarter of our century — ^her portrait 
appears on every page illustrated by Du Maurier. She had a 
brUliant complexion, a perfect profile; her smile, though 
perhaps a little mechanical, was the last expression of im- 
mutable sweetness, of impeccable self-control ; her voice never 
slipped from the just note of unexaggerated suavity. Con- 
summate as an ornament of the drawing-room, she would be 
no less admirably at ease on the tennis lawn, in the boat, on 
horseback, or walking by the seashore. Beyond criticism her 
breeding; excellent her education. There appeared, too, in 
her ordinary speech, her common look; a real amiability of 
disposition; one could not imagine her behaving harshly or 
with conscious injustice. Her manners — within the recognised 
limits — were frank, spontaneous; she had for the most part 
a liberal tone in conversation, and was evidently quite in- 
capable of bitter feeling on any everyday subject. Piers 
Otway bent before her with unfeigned reverence ; she dazzled 
him, she delighted and confused his senses. As often as he 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 9 

dared look at her, his eye discovered some new elegance in 
her attitude, some marvel of delicate beauty in the details of 
her person. A spectator might have observed that this worship 
was manifest to Mr. Jacks, and that it by no means displeased 

"You are very like your father, Mr. Otway," was the host's 
first remark after a moment of ceremony. "Very like what he 
was forty years ago," He laughed, not quite naturally, glanc- 
ing at his wife. " At that time he and I were much together. 
But he went to London ; I stayed in the North ; and so we 
lost sight of each other for many a long year. Somewhere 
about 1870 we met by chance, on a Channel steamer; yes, 
it was just before the war; I remember your father prophe- 
sied it, and foretold its course very accurately. Then we 
didn't see each other again until a month ago — I had run 
down into Yorkshire for a couple of days and stood waiting 
for a train at Northallerton. Someone came towards me, and 
looked me in the face, then held out his hand without speak- 
ing ; and it was my old friend. He has become a man of few 
words." 

"Yes, he talks very httle," said Piers. "I've known him 
silent for two or three days together." 

" And what does he do with himself there among the moors ? 
You don't know Hawes," he remarked to the graciously attentive 
Mrs. Jacks. " A little stony town at the wild end of Wensley- 
dale. Delightful for a few months, but very grim all the rest 
of the year. Has he any society there ? " 

"None outside his home, I think. He sits by the fire and 
reads Dante." 

" Dante ? " 

"Yes, Dante; he seems to care for hardly anything else. 
It has been so for two or three years. Editions of Dante and 
books about Dante crowd his room — they are constantly 
coming. I asked him once if he was going to write on the 
subject, but he shook his head." 

" It must be a very engrossing study," remarked Mrs. Jacks, 
"''U her most intelligent air. " Dante opens such a world ! " 

"Strange!" murmured her husband, with his kindly smile. 

e fast thing I should have imagined." 
fcey were summoned to luncheon. As they entered the 
"g-room, there appeared a yotmg mim ■«\^'^\c^"\^\-"\'^'5*s• 
" ' irarmly. 



lo THE CROWN OF LIFE 

"Hullo, Arnold! I am so glad you lunch here 
Here is the son of my old friend Jerome Otway." 

Arnold Jacks pressed the visitor's hand and spok 
courteous words ia a remarkably pleasant voice. In p] 
he was quite unlike his father; tall, well but slenderl; 
with a small finely-shaped head, large grey-blue eyes anc 
hair. The delicacy of his complexion and the lines 
figure did not suggest strength, yet he walked with a ve 
step, and his whole bearing betokened habits of 
activity. In early years he had seemed to inherit 
feeble constitution; the death of his brother and 
followed by that of their mother at an untimely a| 
little hope that he would reach manhood ; now, in his t 
year, he was rarely troubled on the score of health, a 
men relieved from the necessity of earning money foun 
occupation for their time. Some portion of each day h 
at the offices of a certain Company, which held rul 
British colony of considerable importance. His inte 
this colony had originated at the time when he was 
vigour and enlarging his experience in world-wide tra'' 
enjoyed the sense of power, and his voice did not lack 
at the Board of the Company in question. He had all i 
of talents and pursuits. Knowledge — the only kind of 
ledge he cared for, that of practical things, things a 
the world of to-day — seemed to come to him withe 
effort on his part. A new invention concealed no m] 
from him ; he looked into it ; understood, calculated its 
A strange piece of news from any part of the world foui 
unsurprised, explanatory. He liked mathematics, ar 
wont to say jocosely that an abstract computation hac 
moral effect, favouring unselfishness. Music was one 
foibles ; he learnt an instrument with wonderful facilit 
up to a certain point, played well. For poetry, thoug 
rule he disguised the fact, he had a strong distaste 
when aged about twenty, he startled his father by ob: 
that " In Memoriam " seemed to him a shocking insti 
wasted energy; he would undertake to compress the 
significance of each section, with its laborious rhyming 
two or three lines of good clear prose. Naturally the 
man had undeigone no sentimental troubles ; he had i 
talked of marrying, and cared only for the society of 
women who took common-sense views of life. His i 



THE CROWN OF LIFE ii 

was the British Empire ; his saints, the men who had made it ; 
his prophets, the pohticians and publicists who he!d most 
firmly the Imperial tone. 

Where Arnold Jacks was in company, there could be no 
dulness. Alone with his host and hostess, Otway would have 
found the occasion rather solemn, and have wished it over, 
but Arnold's melodious voice, his sprightly discussion and 
anecdotage, his frequent laughter, charmed the guest into 
self-oblivion. 

"You are no doubt a Home Ruler, Mr. Otway," observed 
Arnold, soon after they were seated. 

" Yes, I am," answered Piers cheerily. " You too, I hope ? " 

" Why, yes. I would grant Home Rule of the completes! 
description, and I would let it run its natural course for — 
shall we say five years? When the state of Ireland had 
become intolerable to herself and dangerous to this adjacent 
island, I would send over dragoons. And," he added quietly, 
crumbling his bread, " the question would not rise again." 

"Arnold," remarked Mr. Jacks, with good humour, "you 
are quite Incapable of understanding this question. We shall 
see. Mr. Gladstone's Bill " — 

" Mr. Gladstone's liitle Bill— do say his tittlt Bill," 

" Arnold, you are too absurd ! " exclaimed the hostess 
mirthfully. 

"What does your father think?" Mr. Jacks inquired of 
.their guest. "Has he broken silence on the subject?" 

" I think not. He never says a word about politics." 

"The liitle Bill hasn't a chance," cried Arnold. "Your 
majority is melting away. You, of course, will stand by the 
old man, but that is chivalry, not politics. You don't know 
what a picturesque figure you make, sir ; you help me to realise 
Horatius Codes, and that kind of thing." i. 

John Jacks laughed heartily at his own expense, but his wife 
iSeemed to think the jest unmannerly, Home Rule did not in 
Ithe least commend itself to her sedate, practical mind, hut she 
iwould never have committed such an error in taste as to pro- 
claim diveigence from her husband's views. 

" It is a most difficult and complicated question," she said, 
addressing herself to Otway. "The character of the people 
makes it so ; the Irish are so sentimental," 

Upon the young man's ear this utterance fell strangely ; it 
gave him a Uttle shock, and he could only murmur some 



12 ^^ THE CROWN OF LIFE 

commonplace of assent With men, Piers had pleni 
moral courage, but women daunted him. 

" I heard a capital idea last night," resumed Arnold J 
"from a man I was dining with — interesting fellow c 
Hannaford. He suggested that Ireland should be made 
a military and naval depot — used solely for that pur 
The details of his scheme were really very ingenious, 
didn't propose to exterminate the natives" — 

John Jacks interrupted with hilarity, which his son afH 
to resent: the look exchanged by the two making ple^ 
proof of how little their natural affection was disturber 
political and other differences. At the name of Hanna 
Otway had looked keenly towards the speaker. 

" Is that Lee Hannaford ? " he asked. " Oh, I know 
In fact, I'm living in his house just now." 

Arnold was interested. He had only the slightest acqu 
ance with Hannaford, and would like to hear more of him 

"Not long ago," Piers responded, "he was a teach( 
chemistry at Geneva — I got to know him there. He S( 
to speak half a dozen languages in perfection ; I believ 
was born in Switzerland. His house down in Surrey 
museum of modem weapons — a regular armoury. He 
invented some new gun." 

" So I gathered. And a new explosive, I'm told." 

" I hope he doesn't store it in his house ? " said Mr. J; 
looking with concern at Piers. 

" I've had a moment's uneasiness about that, now and tl 
Otway replied, laughing, " especially after hearing him tall 

"A tremendous fellow!" Arnold exclaimed admiri 
"He showed me, by sketch diagrams, how many mei 
could kill within a given space." 

" If this gentleman were not your friend, Mr. Otway," b 
the host, " I should say" — 

" Oh, pray say whatever you like ! He isn't my friei 
all, and I detest his inventions." 

" Shocking ! " fell sweetly from the lady at the head o 
table. 

"As usual, I must beg leave to differ," put in An 
" What would become of us if we left all that kind of 1 
to the other countries ? Hannaford is a patriot He st 
me as quite disinterested ; personal gain is nothing to 
He loves his country, and is using his genius in her servic 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 13 

John Jacks nodded. 

"Well, yes, yes. But I wish your father were here, Mr. 
Otway, to give his estimate of sudi genius ; at all events if he 
thinks as he did years ago. Get him on that topic, and he 
^vas one of the most eloquent men living, I am convinced 
that he only wanted a little more self-confidence to become 
a real power in public life — a genuine orator, such, perhaps, as 
England has never had." 

"Nor ever will have," Arnold interrupted. "We act 
instead of talking." 

" My dear boy," said his father we^htily, " we talk very 
much, and very badly ; in pulpit, and Parliament, and press. 
We want the man who has something new to say, and knows 
liow to say it. For my own part, I don't think, when he 
comes, that he will glorify explosives, I want to hear someone 
talk about Peace — and nol from the commercial point of view. 
The slaughterers shan't have it all their own way, Arnold ; 
civihsation will be too strong for them, and if Old England 
doesn't lead in that direction, it will be her shame to the end 
of history." 

Arnold smiled, but kept silence. Mrs. Jacks looked and 
murmured her approval. 

" I wish Hannaford could hear you," said Piers Otway- 
When they rose from the table, John Jacks invited the 
young man to come with him into his study for a little private 
talk. 

"I haven't many books here," he said, noticing Otway's 
glance at the shelves. " My library is down in Yorkshire, at 
the old home ; where I shall be very glad indeed to see you, 
whenever you come North in vacation- time. — Well now, let us 
make friends ; tell me something about yourself. You are 
reading for the Civil Service, I understand ? " , 

Piers liked Mr. Jacks, and was soon chattmg freely. He 
told how bis education had begun at a private school in 
London, how he had then gone to school at Geneva, and, 
when seventeen years old, had entered an office of London 
merchants, dealing with Russia. 

" It wasn't my own choice. My father talked to me, and 
seemed so anxious for me to go into business that I made no 
objection. I didn't understand him then, but I think I do 
now. You know "—he added in a lower tone^" that I have 
two elder brothers?" 



14 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



"Yes, I know. And a word that fell from your father 
Northallerton the other day — I think I understand." 

"Both went in for professions," Otway pursued, "andl 
suppose he wasn't very well satisfied with the results, 
ever, after I had heen two years in the office, I felt I couldl 
stand it, and I began privately to read law. Then one day 
wrote to my father, and asked whether he would allow me 
be articled to a solicitor. He replied that he would, if, at ti 
age of twenty, I had gone steadily on with the distasteful ofH 
work, and had continued to read law in my leisure. Well, 
accepted this, of course, and in a year's time found ho 
right he had been ; already I had got sick of the law bool 
and didn't care for the idea of being articled. I told fath 
that, and he asked me to wait six months more, and then 
let him know my mind again. I hadn't got to like bus 
any better, and one day it seemed to me that I would try fi 
a place in a Government office. When the time cam^ 
suggested this, and my father ultimately agreed. I lived w 
him at Hawes for a month or two, then came into Surrey, 
work on for the examination. — We shall see what I get." 

The young man spoke with a curious blending of modes 
and self-confidence, of sobriety beyond his years and the glO 
of a fervid temperament. He seemed to hold himself co 
sciously in restraint, but, as if to compensate for subdui 
language, he used more gesticulation than is common 
Englishmen. Mr, Jacks watched him verjtclosely, and, ' 
he ceased, reflected for a moment. 

"True; we shall see. You are working steadily?" 

" About fourteen hours a day." 

" Too much ! too much ! — All at the Civil Service sul 
jects ? " 

" No ; I manage a few other things. For instance, I'm 
trying to learn Russian, Father says he made the attempl 
long ago, but was beaten. I don't think I shall give in.'" 

" Your father knew Herzen and Bakounine, in the old days. 
Well, don't overdo it; don't neglect the body. We musi 
have another talk before long," 

Again Mr. Jacks looked thoughtfully at the keen young face,' 
and his countenance betrayed a troublous mood. 

" How you remind me of my old friend, forty years a^o — I 
forty years ago ! " I 



^ 



CHAPTER III 

A LITTLE apart from the village of Ewel], within sight of 
■^»- the noble trees and broad herbage of Nonsuch Park, and 
looking southward to the tilth and pasture of the Downs, 
stood the house occupied by Mr. Lee Hannaford. It was 
just loo large to be called a cottage ; not quite old enough to 
be picluresque ; a pleasant enough dwelling, amid its green 
garden plot, sheltered on the north side by a dark hedge of 
yew, and shut from the quiet road by privet topped with 
hlac and laburnum. This day of early summer, fresh after 
rains, with a clear sky and the sun wide-gleaming over young 
leaf and bright blossom, with Nature's perfume wafted along 
every alley, about every field and lane, showed the spot at its best. 
But it was with no eye to natural beauty that Mr. Haimaford 
had chosen this abode; such considerations left him un- 
touched. He wanted a cheap house not far from London, 
where his wife's uncertain health might receive benefit, and 
where the sioiplic^g' of the surroundings would offer no 
temptations to casual expense. For his own part, he was a 
good deal from home, coming and going as it suited him ; 
a very small income from capital, and occasional earnings by 
contribution to scientific journalism, left slender resources to 
Mrs. Hannaford and her daughter after the husband's needs 
were supplied. Thus it came about that they gladly ceded 
a spare room to Piers Otway, who, having boarded with them 
during his student time at Geneva, had at long intervals 
kept up a correspondence with Mrs. Hannaford, a lady he 
admired. 

The rooms were indifferently furnished ; in part, owing to 
poverty, and partly because neither of the ladies cared much 
for things domestic. Mr. Hannaford's sanctum alone had 
character ; it was hung about with lethal weapons of many 
kinds and many epochs, including a memento of every 
'mportant war waged in Europe since the date of Waletloo. 



I 



r 

H °' 
I: 



l6 THE CROWN OF LIFE 



loke^imed rifle from some battlefield was in Hannaforii^ 
view a thing greatly precious ; still more, a bayonet with staii 
of blood ; these relics appealed to his emotions. Under giasi 
were ranged minutiie such as bullets, fragments of shells, h'" 
of gore-drenched cloth or linen, a sphnter of human bono 
all ticketed with neat inscription. A bookcase contain 
volumes of military history, works on firearms, treatises 
(chiefly explosive) chemistry ; several great portfolios wi 
packed with maps and diagrams of warfare. Upstairs, a lo 
garret served as laboratory, and here were ranged less ralual 
possessions ; weapons to which some doubt attached, unbloo 
scraps of accoutrements, also a few models of cannon a 
the like. 

In society, Hannaford was an entertaining, sometimes 
charming, man, with a flow of weH-informed talk, of agreeal 
anecdote ; his friends liked to have him at the dinner-tabl 
he could never be at a loss for a day or two's board a 
lodging when his home wearied him. Under his own re 
he seldom spoke save to find fault, rarely showed anything t 
an acrid countenance. He and his wife were completi 
alienated ; but for their child, they would long ago ha 
parted. It had been a love match, and the daughter's nan 
Olga, still testified to the romance of their honeymoon; b 
that was nearly twenty years gone by, and of these at lei 
fifteen had been spent in discord, concealed or flagrant. M 
Hannaford was something of an artist ; her husband spoke; 
all art with contempt — except the great art of human slaught 
She liked the society of foreigners ; he, though a remarkal 
linguist, at heart distrusted and despised all but Englij 
speaking folk. As a girl in her teens, she had been charm 
by the man's virile accomplishments, his soldierly bearing x 
gay talk of martial things, though Hannaford was only 
teacher of science. Nowadays she thought with dreary wont 
of that fascination, and had come to loathe every trapping ai 
habiliment of war. She knew him profoundly selfish, a 
recognised the other faults which had hindered so clever 
man from success in Ufe; indolent habits, moral until 
worthiness, and a conceit which at limes menaced insani 
He hated her, she was well aware, because of her ci 
criticism ; she returned his hate with interest, 

Save in suicide, of which she had sometimes thought, M 
Hannaford saw but one hope of release. A sister of hers ' 



H THE CROWN OF LIFE 17 

married a rich American, and was now a widow in failing 
health. That sister's death might perchance endow her with 
the means of liberty ; she hung upon every message from 
across the Atlantic. 

She had a brother, too ; a distinguished, but not a wealthy, 
man. Dr. Derwent would gladly have seen more of her, 
gladly have helped to cheer her life, but a hearty antipathy 
held him aloof from Lee Hannaford. Communication between 
the two families was chiefly maintained through Dr. Derwent's 
daughter Irene, now in her nineteenth year. The girl had 
visited her aunt at Geneva, and since then had occasionally 
been a guest at Ewell. Having just returned from a winter 
abroad with her father, and no house being ready for her 
reception in London, Irene was even now about to pass a 
week with her relatives. They expected her to-day. The 
prospect of Irene's arrival enabled Mrs. Hannaford and Olga 
to find pleasure in the sunshine, which olhenvise brought them 
little solace. 

Neither was in sound health. The mother had an interest- 
ing face J the daughter had a touch of beauty ; but something 
morbid appeared on the countenance of each. They lived a 
strange life, lonely, silent ; the stillness of the house unbroken 
by a note of music, unrelieved by a sound of laughter. In the 
neighbourhood they had no friends ; only at long intervals 
did a London acquaintance come thus far to call upon them. 
But for the presence of Piers Otway at meals, and sometimes 
in the aftemoon or evenmg, they would hardly have known 
conversation. For when Hannaford was at home, his sour 
muteness discouraged any kind of talk ; in his absence, mother 
■ and daughter soon exhausted all they had to say to each other, 
and read or brooded or nursed their headaches apart. 

With the coming of Irene, gioom vanished. It had always 
been so, since the beginning of her girlhood; the name of 
5 Irene Derwent signified miseries forgotten, mirthful hours, the 
1 revival of health and hope. Unable to resist her inf3uence, 
Hannaford always kept as much as possible out of the way 
iwhen she was under his roof; the conflict between inchnation 
:to unbend and stubborn coldness towards his family made him 
litoo uncomfortable. Vivaciously tactful in this as in all things, 
Irene had invented a pleasant fiction which enabled her to 
meet Mr, Hannaford without embarrassment ; she always asked 
him "How is your neuralgia?" And the roan, according as 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 

he felt, made answer that it was better or worse. That 

ralgia was often a subject of bitter jest between M 
Hannaford and Olga, buCiit had entered into the life of thi 
family, and at times see4|d to be believed in even by f 
imagined sufferer. ^ 

Nothing could have been more characteristic of Irene. V 
at the service of goocf 'feeling expressed her nature. 

Her visit this time would be specially interesting, for s 
had passed the winter in Finland, amid the intellectual socit 
of Helsingfors. Letters had given a foretaste of what si 
would have to tell, but Irene was no great letter-ivriter. S 
bad an impatience of remaining seated at a desk. She C 
not even read very much. Her delight was in conversatit 
in movement, in active life. For several years her father h 
made her his companion, as often as possible, in holiday tra' 
and on the journeys prompted by scientific study. Thou 
successful as a medical man. Dr. Derwent no longer practise 
he devoted himself to pathological research, and was maki 
a name in the world of science. His wife, who had dii 
young, left him two children; the elder, Eustace, was 
amiable and intelligent young man, but had small place 
his father's life compared with that h^Id by Irene. 

She was to arrive at Ewell in time for luncheon. F 
brother would bring her, and return to London in the afternoi 

Olga walked to the station to meet them. Mrs. Hannafoi 
having paid unusual attention to her dress — she liad long sic 
ceased to care how she looked, save on very exceptioi 
occasions — moved impatiendy, nervously, about the hot 
and the garden, Her age was not yet forty, but a life 
disappointment and unrest had dulled her complexion, ma 
her movements languid, and was beginning to touch with gi 
her soft, wavy hair. Under happier circumstances she wov 
have been a most attractive woman ; her natural graces w( 
many, her emotions were vivid and linked with a bright inte 
gence, her natural temper inclined to the nobler modes of li 
Unfortunately, little care had been given to her educatio 
her best possibilities lay undeveloped ; thrown upon her 
adequate resources, she nourished the weaknesses instead 
the virtues of her nature. She was always saying to hersei 
that life had gone by, and was wasted ; for life meant lov 
and love in her experience had been a Bitting folly, an ( 
of crude years, which should, in a,\\ iaf.t\ce, have been ttii 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 19 

"aside and forgotten, allowing her a second chance. Too kte^ 
now. Often she lay through the long nights shedding tears 
of misery. Too late j her beauty blurred, her heart worn with 
suffering, often poisoned with bitterness. Vet there came 
moments of revolt, when she rose and looked at herself in 
tlie mirror, and asked — But for Olga, she would have tried 
i^hape her own destiny. 

^Bp-day she could look up at the sunshine. Irene was coming. 
^H sound of young voices in the quiet road; then the 
^^Btner of a bright costume, the gleam of a face all health 
HS' charm and merriment. Irene came into the garden, 
followed by her brother, and behind them Olga. 

Her voice woke the dull house ; of a sudden it was alive, 
responding to the cheerful mood of its inhabitants. The 
rooms had a new appearance ; sunlight seemed to penetrate 
lo every shadowed corner ; colours were brighter, too familiar 
objects became interesting. The dining-room table, commonly 
so uninviting, gleamed as for a festival. Irene's eyes fell on 
everything, and diffused her own happy spirit. Irene had an 
excellent appetite ; everyone enjoyed the meal, This girl could 
not but bestow something of herself on all with whom she came 
^WKther ; where she f^t liking, her influence was incalculable, 
^^teow much better you look than when I last saw you," 
^^Kaid to her aunt. " Swell evidently suits you." 
^^nd at once Mrs. Harmaford felt that she was stronger, 
^HHer, than she had thought. Yes, she felt better than for 
^^k; time, and Ewell was exactly suited to her health. 
^^■s that pastel yours, Olga? Admirable! The best thing 
^^Buis I ever saw." 

^^Kd Ol^a, who had thought her pastel worthless, saw all at 
^^B. that It really was not bad ; she glowed with gratification. 
^^fte cousins were almost of an age, of much the same 
^^Bre ; but Olga had a pallid tint, tawny hair, and bluish eyes, 
^^Kt Irene's was a warm complexion, her hair of dark-brown, 
^^Bier eyes of hazel. As efllicient human beings, there could be 
^^Bmiparison between them ; Olga looked frail, despondent, 
^^Ked to sultenness, whilst Irene impressed one as in perfect 
^^Bi, abounding in gay vitality, infinite in helpful resource. 
^^K[ht as an arrow, her shoulders the perfect curve, bosom 
^^Kips full-moulded to the idea! of ripe girlhood, she could 
^^■uake a gesture which was not graceful, nor change her 
^^wn without revealing a new excellence of form. Yet a. 



ao THE CROWN OF LIFE 

certain taste would have leant towards Miss Hannaford, wh( 
traits had more mystery ; as an uncommon type, she gaii 
by this juxtaposition. Miss Derwent, despite her larger 
perience of the world, her vastly hetter education, was a mi 
younger person than Olga; she had an occasional naiv 
unknown to her cousin; her sex was far less developed, 
the average man, Olga's proximity would have been troubli 
whereas Irene's would simply have given delight. 

During the excitement of the arrival, and through 
cheerful meal which followed, Eustace Derwent maintained 
certain reserve, was always rather in the background, 
implied no defect of decent sentiment; the young ma 
was four-and-twenty — could not regard his aunt and cous 
with any fond emotion, but he did not dislike them, and 
willing to credit them with ail the excellent qualities perceiv 
by Irene, wondering merely how his father's sister, a meml 
of the Derwent family, could have married such a "douhl 
customer " as Lee Hannaford. Eustace never became dem< 
stralive; he had in perfection the repose of a self-conscioi 
delicately bred, and highly trained Englishman. In a day 
democratisation, he supported the ancient fame of 
University which fostered gentlemen. Balliol was his Coll< 
His respect for that name, and his reverence for the 
Master who ruled there, were not inconsistent with a priv 
feeling that, whatever he might owe to Ballio!, Balliol in ti 
lay under a certain obligation to him. His academic reo 
had no brilliancy ; he aimed at nothing of the kind, know 
his hmitationa — or rather his distinctions ; but he was quit 
conscious that no graduate of his year hetter understood 
niceties of decorum, more creditably represented the tone 
that famous school of manners. 

Eustace Derwent was in fact a thoroughly clear-minded 
well-meaning young man ; sensitive as to his honour ; ambiti* 
of such social advancement as would illustrate his nan 
unaffectedly attached to those of his own blood, and anxii 
to fulfil with entire propriety all the recognised duties of 1 
He was intelligent, with originality; he was good- 
without shadow of boisterous impulse. In countenance 
strongly resembled his mother, who had been a very handso: 
woman (Irene had more of her father's features), and of coi 
be vreli knew that the eyes of ladies rested upon him i 
peculiar interest; but no vu\g^ ■va.n.vi.'j w^^ea-ted in 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 21 

'flemeanour. As a matter of routine, he dressed well, but he 
abhorred the hint of foppishness. In athletics he had kept 
the golden mean, as in all else ; he exercised his body for 
healii, not for the pride of emulation. As to his career, he 
was at present reading for the Bar. In meditative moments 
it seemed to him that he was perhaps best fitted for the 
diplomatic service. 

Not til! this gentleman had taken his leave, which he did 
(to catch a train) soon after lunch, was there any mention of 
the fact that the Hannafords had a stranger residing under their 
": in coarse English, a lodger. 
3 Eustace, as his aunt knew, the subject would necessarily 
^ been painful ; and not only in the snobbish sense ; it 
' i really have distressed him to learn that his kinsfolk were 
I of such a supplement to their income. But soon after 
liis retirement, Mrs. Hannaford spoke of the matter, and no 
sooner had she mentioned Piers Otway's name than Irene 
flashed upon her a look of attentive interest. 

"Is he related to Jerome Ot way, the agitator? — His son? 
How delightful ! Oh, I know ail about him ; I mean, about 
the old man. One of our friends at Helsingfors was an old 
French revolutionist, who has lived a great deal in England ; 
he was always talking about his English friends of long ago, 
and Jerome Otway often came in. He didn't know whether 
iie was still alive. Oh, I must write and tell him." 
m^bs ladies gave what information they could (it amounted 
^^■ery little) about the recluse of Wensleydale ; then they 
^^Bd of the young man. 

H^pn^e knew him at Geneva, first of all," said Mrs. Hannaford. 
■^ideed, he lived with us there for a time ; he was only a boy 
then, and such a nice boy ! He has changed a good deal — 
don't you think so, Olga ? I don't mean for the worse ; not at 
" ! but be is not so talkative and companionable. You'll 
' Im shy at first, I fancy." 
e works terrifically," put in Olga. " It's certain he must 
a; his health." 

" exclaimed Irene, "why do you let him?" 
m ? We have no right to interfere with a young man 
ind-twenty." 

" { you have, if he's behaving foolishly, to his own 
It what do you caU terrific work ? " 
F long, and goodness knows how muc\\ O^ ^-Ve. nv^^. 




THE CROWN OF LIFE 



Somebody to!d us his light had been seen burning once , 
nearly three o'clock." 

" Is he at it now ? " asked Irene, with a comical look towan 
the ceiling. 

They explained Otway's absence. 

"Oh, he lunches with Members of Parliament, does he?" 

" It's a very exceptional thing for him to leave home," sa 
Mrs. Hannaford. " He only goes out to breathe the air fc 
half an hour or so in an afternoon." 

" You astonish me, aunt I You oughtn't to allow it- 
shan't allow it, I assure you." 

The listeners laughed gaily. 

" My dear Irene," said her aunt, " Mr. Otway will be mud 
flattered, I'm sure. But his examination comes on very sooi 
and he was telling us only yesterday that he didn't want t 
lose an hour if he could help it." 

" He'll lose a good many hours before long, at this rati 
Silly fellow ! That's not the way to do well at an exam ! 
must counsel him for his soul's good, I must indeed. — Will 
dine here to-night ? " 

" No doubt." 

"And make all haste to get away when dinner is over," si 
Olga, with a smile. 

" Then we wori't let bim. He shall tell us all about th 
Member of Parliament ; and then all about his famous fathi 
I undertake to keep him talking till ten," 

" Then, poor fellow, he'll have to work all night to make it up 

" Indeed, no ! I sliall expressly forbid it — What a shockii 
thing if he died here, and it got into the papers ! Aunt, ( 
consider ; they would call you his landlady ! " 

Mrs. Hannaford reddened whilst laughing, and the girl st 
that her joke was not entirely relished, but she could ne^ 
resist the temptation to make fun of certain prejudices. 

"And when you give your evidence," she went on, "tl 
coroner will remark that if the influence of a lady so obvious 
sweet and right-feeling and intelligent could not avail to sai 
the poor youth, he was plainly destined to a premature end." 

At which Mrs. Hannaford again laughed and reddened, I 
this time with gratification. 

If Irene sometimes made a mistake, no one could hai 
perceived it more quickly, and more charmingly have redeemi 
the slip. 



CHAPTER IV 

WHEN Piers Otway got back to Ewell, about four o'clock, 
he felt ibe beginning of a headache. The daj- of 
excitement might have accounted for it, but in the last few 
weeks it had been too common an experience with him, a 
warning, naturally, against his mode of life, and of course un- 
heeded. On reaching the house, he saw and heard no one j 
the door stood open, and he went straight up to his room. 

He had only one, which served him for study and bed- 
chamber. In front of the window stood a large table, covered 
with his books and papers, and there, on the blotting pad, lay 
a letter which had arrived for him since his departure this 
morning. It came, he saw, from his father. He took it up 
eagerly, and was tearing the envelope when his eye fell on 
something that stayed his hand. 

The wide-open window offered a view over the garden at 
the back of the house, and on the lawn he saw a little group 
of ladies. Seated in basket chairs, Mrs. Hannaford and her 
daughter were conversing with a third person whom Piers did 
not know, a tall, fair-faced girl who stood before them and 
seemed at this moment to be narrating some lively story. 
Even had her features been hidden, the attitude of this 
stranger, her admirable form and rapid graceful gestures, must 
have held the young man's attention ; seeing her with the 
light full on her countenance, he gazed and gazed, in sudden 
complete forgethilness of his half-opened letter. Just so had 
he stood before the print shop in London this morning, 
with the same wide eyes, the same hurried breathing; rapt, 
self-oblivious. 

He remembered. The Hannafords' relative. Miss Derwent, 
was expected to-day ; and Miss Derwent, doubtless, he beheld. 

The next moment it occurred to him that his observation, 
iri thin earshot of the group, was a sort of easesiiTO^^XR^,-, \vt 
^^psed bis window and turned away. The aoutii \n\is.^ NsiNe. 



I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 

drawn attention, for very soon there came a knock at the (loo* 
and the servant inquired of him whether he would have tea, a 
usual, in his room, or join tlie ladies below. 

"Bring it here, please," he rephed, "And— yes, tell Mrs 
Hannaford that I shall not come down to dinner — you c 
bring me anything you like — just a mouthful of sometWng." 

Now there went, obscurely, no less than three reasons to th 
quick shaping of this decision. In the first place, Piers ha 
glanced over his father's letter, and saw in it matter for Ion 
reflection. Secondly, his headache was declared, and 
would be better alone for the evening. Thirdly, he shranl 
from meeting Miss Derwent. And this last was the pre 
dominant motive. Letter and headache notwithstanding, 
would have joined the ladies at dinner but for the presence o 
their guest. An inexplicable irritation all at once posi 
him ; a grotesque resentment of Miss Derwent's arrival. 

Why should she have come just when he wanted to worl 
harder than ever? That was how things happened — 
perversity of circumstance ! She would be at every i 
for at least a week ; he must needs talk with her, look s 
her, think about her. His annoyance became so acute tha 
he tramped nervously about the floor, muttering maledictions. 

It passed. A cup of tea brought him to his right mind, am 
he no longer saw the event in such exaggerated colours, Bu 
he was glad of his decision to spend the evening alone. 

His father's letter had come at the right moment ; in sora 
degree it allayed the worry caused by his brother Daniel's 
this morning. Jerome Otway wrote, as usual, briefly, on th 
large letter-paper he always used ; his bold hand, full of 
certain character, demanded space. He began by congratula 
ing Piers on the completion of his one -and -twentieth yes 
"I am late, but had not forgotten the day; it costs me : 
effort to put pen to paper, as you know." Proceeding, 1 
informed his son that a sum of money, a few hundred pound; 
had become payable to him on the attainment of his majority 
"It was your mother's, and she wished you to have iL A mat 
of law will communicate with you about the matter. Speak o 
it to me, or not, as you prefer. If you wish it, I will advise 
if you wish it not, I will keep silence." There followed a fei 
words about the beauty of spring in the moorland ; then 
"Your ordeal approaches. An absurdity, I fear, bul ' 
wisdom of our day will have it thus. I wish you su 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 25 

[f you fall short of your hopes, come to me and we will talk 
more. Befall what may, I am to the end your father 
rtio wishes you well." The signature was very large, and 
have drawn censure of affectation from the un- 
sympathetic. As indeed might the whole epistle : very 
Wgnificant of the mind and temper of Jerome Otway. 

To Piers the style was too familiar to suggest reflections : 
iiesides, he had a loyal mind towards his father, and never 
riticised the old man's dealings with him. The confirmation 
>f Daniel's report about the legacy concerned him little in 
Itself; he had no immediate need of money, and so small a 
sum could not affect the course of his life ; but, this being 
true, it seemed probable that Daniel's other piece of informa- 
tion was equally well founded. If so, what matter? Already 
-he had asked himself why the story about his mother should 
have caused him a shock. His father, in all likelihood, would 
now never speak of thai ; and indeed why should he ? The 
■etory no longer affected either of them, and to worry oneself 
about it was mere "philistinism," a favourite term with Piers 
at that day. 

In replying, which he did this same night, he decided to 
make no mention of Daniel. The name would give his father 
no pleasure. 

When he rang to have his tea-things taken away, Mrs. 
B annaford presented herself. She was anxious about him. 
Why would he not dine ? She wished him to make the 
ilcquaintance of Miss Derwent, whose talk was sure to 
interest him. Piers pleaded his headache, causing the lady 
more solicitude. She entreated. As he could not work, it 
would be much better for him to spend an hour or two in 
company. Would he not? to please her? 

Mrs, Hannaford spoke in a soft, caressing voice, and Piers 
etumed her look of kindness ; but he was firm. An affection 
^^ I grown up between these two ; their intercourse, though 
bey seldom talked long together, was much like that of 
lother and son. 

"You are injuring your health," said Mrs. Hannaford 
tavely, "and it is unkind to those who care for you." 
"Wait a few weeks," he replied cheerily, "and I'll make up 
be health account." 
" You refuse to come down to please me, this once ? " 
*I must be alone — indeed I must," Piers replied, with 






THE CROWN OF LIFE 



I 



unusual abruptness. And Mrs. Hannaford, a little hurt, left 
the room without speaking. 

He all but hastened after her, to apologise ; but the irritablt 
impulse overcame him again, and he had to pace the room till 
his nerves grew steady. 

Very soon after it was dark he gave up the effort to read, 
and went to bed. A good night's sleep restored him. 
rose with the sun, felt the old appetite for work, and when tl 
breakfast bell rang had redeemed more than three good houi 
He was able now to face Miss Derwent, or anyone eh 
Indeed, that young lady hardly came into his mind before h 
met her downstairs. At the introduction he behaved with h! 
natural reserve, which had nothing, as a rule, of awkwardness 
Irene was equally formal, though a smile at the comer of ht 
lips half betrayed a mischievous thought. They barely spol 
to each other, and at table Irene took no heed of him. 

But with the others she talked as brightly as usual, managii 
none the less, to do full justice to the meal. Miss Derwent 
vigour of mind and body was not sustained on air, and i' 
never affected a deUcate appetite. There was still someth; 
of the healthy schoolgirl in her manner, Otway glanced 
her once or twice, but immediately averted his eyes — with 
slight frown, as if the light had dazzled him. 

She was talking of Finland, and mentioned the name of h< 
father's man-servant Thibaut. It entered several times into tl 
narrative and always with an approving epithet, the excellei 
Thibaut, the brave Thibaul. 

" Oh !" exclaimed Mrs. Hannaford presently, "do tell 
Otway the story of Thibaut." 

" Yes, do ! " urged Olga. 

Piers raised his eyes to the last speaker, and moved thei 
timidly towards Irene. She smiled, meeting his look with 
sort of merry satisfaction. 

"Mr, Otway is occupied with serious thoughts," was h^ 
good-humoured remark. 

" I should much like to hear the story of Thibaut," s; 
Piers, bending forward a little. 

"Would you? You shall — Thibaut Rossignol; delighl 
name, isn't it? And one of the most delightful of mi 
though only a servant, and the son of a village shopkeej 
It begins fifteen yeare ago, just after the Franco-Pniss 
iVar. My father was taking a hoUda^ itv eastern France, s 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 

i came one day to a village where an epidemic of typhoid 
as raging. Tant mieux ! Something to do ; some help to 
€ given. If you knew my father — but you will understand. 
"e offered his services to the overworked couple of doctors, 

id was welcomed. He fought the typhoid day and night — 
■ you knew my father ! Well, there was a bad case in a 
mily named Rossignol : a boy of twelve. What made it 
orse was that two elder brothers had been killed in the 
ar, and the parents sat in despair by the bedside of their 
nly remaining child. The father was old and very shaky; 

i mother much younger, but she had suffered dreadfully 

ira the death of her two boys— you should hear my father 
ell it 1 I make a hash of it ; when he tells it people cry. 
dadame Rossignol was the sweetest little woman — you know 
hat kind of Frenchwoman, don't you? Soft-voiced, tender, 
atelligent, using the most delightful phrases ; a jewel of a 
My father settled himself by the bedside and 
jught; Maikme Rossignol watching him with eyes he did 
iOt dare to meet — until a certain moment. Then — then the 
oft voice for once was loud, ' II est iauvi I ' My father shed 
lars ; everybody shed tears — -except Thibaut himself." 

Piers hung on the speaker's lips. No music had ever held 
' a so rapt. When she ceased he gazed at her. 

"No, of course that's not all," Irene proceeded, with the 
iievous smile again ; and she spoke much as she might 
lave done to an eagerly listening child. " Six years pass by. 
iy father is again in the east of France, and he goes to the 
Id village. He is received with enthusiasm ; his name has 
(ecome a proverb. Rossignol pire, alas, is dead, long since. 
>ear Madame Rossignol hves, but my father sees at a glance 
t she will not live long. The excitement of meeting him 
^^ I almost too much for her — pale, sweet little woman. 
ITiibaut was keeping shop with her, hut he seemed out of place 
■e ; a fine lad of eighteen; very intelligent, wonderfully 
d-hunioured, and his poor mother had no peace night or 
ay for the thought of what would become of him after her 
he had no male kinsfolk, and certainly would not 
ick to a dull Uttle trade. My father thought, and after 
linking spoke. ' Madame, will you let me take your son to 
England, and find something for him to do ? ' She screamed 

'th delight. 'But will Thibaut consent?' TVvShaa^ ^^a&. 

i patriotic scritpJes; but when he savj ajvi '^^a.^i V\?. "^^^ 



c 



28 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

mother, he consented. Madame Rossignol had a sister n( 
by, wifli whom she could hve. And so on thaspot it v 
settled." 

Piers hung on the speaker's Ups; no tale had ever si 
engrossed him. Indeed^ it was charmingly told; with s 
much girlish sincerity, so much womanly feeling. 

" No, that's not all. My father went to his inn ff 
night. Early in the morning he was hastily summoned; h 
must come at once to the house of the Rossignols; sorai 
thing was wrong, He went, and there, in her bed, lay th 
little woman, just as if asleep, and a smile on her face— bi 
she was dead." 

Piers had a lump in his throat; he straightened himsel 
and tried to command his features. Irene, smiling, looke 
steadily at him. 

"From that day," she added, "Thibaut has been m 
father's servant. He wouldn't be anything else. This, h 
always says, would best have pleased his mother. He wi 
never leave Dr, Derwent. The good Thibaut ! " 

All were silent for a minute ; then Piers pushed back his chai 

" Work ? " said Mrs. Hannaford, with a little note of allusio 
to last evening. 

" Work ! " Piers replied grimly, his eyes down. 

"Well, now," exclaimed Irene, turning to her cousij 
"what shall we do this splendid morning? Where can we go? 

Piers left the room as the words were spoken. He wet 
upstairs with slower step than usual, head bent. On enterin 
his room (it was always made ready for him while he was i 
breakfast), he walked to the window, and stared out at ti 
fleecy clouds in the summer blue, at the trees and the lawi 
He was thinking of the story of Thibaut. What a fine fello 
Dr. Derwent must be ! He would like to know him. 

To work ! He meant to give an hour or two to his Russiai 
with which he had already made fair progress. By the byi 
he must tell his father that ; the old man would be pleaset 

An hour later, he i^ain stood at his window, staring at th 
clouds and the blue. Russian was against the grain, someiioi 
this morning. He wondered whether Miss Derwent had lean 
any during her winter at Helsingfors. 

What a long day was before him ! He kept looking at h 
watch. And instead of getting on with his work, he thougl 
and thought again of the story of Thibaut. 



CHAPTER V 

AT lunch Piers was as silent as at breakfast; he hardly 
spoke, save in answer to a chance question from Mrs. 
Hannaford. His face had an unwonted expression, a shade 
of suUenness, mood rarely seen in him. Miss Derwent, whose 
animation more than made up for this muteness in one of 
the company, glanced occasionally at Otway, but did not 
address him. 

As his habit was, he went out for an afternoon walk, and 
returned with no brighter countenance. On the first landing 
of the staircase, as he stole softly to his room, he came face 
to face with Miss Derwent, descending. 

" We are going to have tea in the garden," she exclaimed, 
with the friendliest look and tone. 

" Are you ? It will be enjoyable — it*s so warm and 
sunny." 

" You will come, of course ? " 

" Fm sorry — I have too much to do." 

He blundered out the words with hot embarrassment, and 
would have passed on. Irene did not permit it 

" But you have been working all the morning ? " 

«Ohyes"— 

"Since when?" 

"Since about — oh, five o'clock" — 

" Then you have already worked something like eight hours, 
Mr. Otway. How many more do you think of working ? " 

"Rve or six, I hope," Piers answered, finding courage to 
look into her face, and trying to smile. 

"Mr. Otway," she rejoined, with an air of self-possession 
which made him feel like a rebuked schoolboy, '' I prophesy 
that you will come to grief over your examination." 

•* 1 don't think so. Miss Derwent," he said, with the firm- 
ness of desperation, as he felt his face ^O'n t^^l >\xv<^<^\ V<^\ 



29 



30 THE CROWN OP LIFE 

"I am the daughter of a medical man, Prescript] 
in my blood. Allow me to tell you that you have worki 
enough for one day, and that it is your plain duty to coi 
and have tea in the garden." 

So serious was the note of interest which blended with her 
natural gaiety as she spoke these words that Piers felt his 
nerves thrill with delight. He was able to meet her eyes, and 
to respond in becoming terms, 

" You are right. Certainly I will come, and gladly." 

Irene nodded, smDed approval, and moved past him, 

In his room he walked hither and thither aimlessly, still 
holding his hat and stick. A throbbing of the heart, a 
quickening of the senses, seemed to give him a new con- 
sciousness of life, His mood of five minutes ago had 
completely vanished. He remembered his dreary ramble 
about the lanes as if it had taken place last week. Miss 
Derwent was still speaking to him ; his mind echoed again 
and again every word she had said, perfectly reproducing her 
voice, her intonation; he saw her bright, beautiful face, its 
changing lights, its infinite subtleties of expression. The arch 
of her eyebrows and the lovely hazel eyes beneath ; the small 
and exquisitely shaped mouth; the little chin, so delicately 
round and firm ; all were engraved on his memory, once and 
for ever. 

He sat down and was lost in a dream. His arms hung idly ; 
all his muscles were relaxed. His eyes dwelt on a point of tbff 
carpet, which he did not see. 

Then, with a sudden start of activity, he went to the lookii 
glass and surveyed himself. His tie was the worse for 
He exchanged it for another. He brushed his hair violeni 
and smoothed his moustache, Never had he felt such 
satisfaction with his appearance. Never had it struck him 
disagreeably before that he was hard-featured, sallow, anythii _ 
but a handsome man. Yet, he had good teeth, very white and 
regular; that was something, perhaps. Observing them, he 
gnnned at himself grotesquely — and at once was so disgusted 
that he turned with a shudder away. 



I 



I 

^^^ that he turned with a shudder away. ^h 

Ordinarily he would have awaited the summons of the b^H 
for tea. But, after making himself ready, he gazed from t^H 
^^ window and saw Miss Derwent walking alone in the garde^^l 
^^M he hastened down. ^^M 

^^B She gave him a look of inteUigence, Wl VooV. Vi\^ ^tuv^.l a^^| 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 31 

Wer of course, and spoke to him about a flowering shrub 
uch pleased her. Otway's heart sank. What had he es- 
He neither knew nor asked himself j he stood beside 
r, seeing nothing, hearing only a voice and wishing it would 
' It on for ever. He was no longer a reflecting, reasoning 
; man, with a tolerably firm will and fixed purposes, but 
e embodied emotion, and that of the vaguest, swaying in 
pendence on another's personality. 

Olga Hannaford joined them. Olga, for all the various 
s of her face, had never thus affected him. But then he 
d known her a few years ago, when, as something between 
M and woman, she had little power to interest an imagina- 
e boy, whose ideal was some actress seen only in a photo- 
iph, or some great lady oii her travels glimpsed as he 
^^d about Geneva. She, in turn, regarded him with the 
riest friendliness, her own imagination busy with far other 
ores than that of a would-be Government clerk. 

was being served, there sounded a voice welcome 
no one present, that of Lee Hannaford. He came forward 
li his wonted air of preoccupation ; a well-built man, in the 
me of life, carefully dressed, his lips close-set, his eyes 
mingly vacant, but in reality very attentive; a pinched 
lical smile meant for cordiality. After greetings, he stood 
ore Miss Derwent's chair conversing with her ; a cup of tea 
his steady hand, his body just bent, his forehead curiously 
inkled — a habit of his when he talked for civility's sake and 
QiiDg else. Hannaford could never be at ease in the 
; of his wife and daughter if others were there to 
E him ; he avoided speaking to them, or, if obliged, did 
ii awkward formality. Indeed, he was not fond of the 
aely of women, and grew less so every year. His tone with 
1 to them was marked with an almost puritanical cold- 
j he visited any feminine breach of the proprieties with 
^^^ y censure. Yet, before his marriage he had lived if 
jthing more laxly than the average man, and to his wife he 
J confessed (strange memory nowadays) that he owed to her 
1 redemption. His morality, in fact, no one doubted ; 
rnispicions Mrs. Hannaford had once entertained when his 
'ji/ss to her began, she now knew to be baseless. Absorbed 
leditations upon bloodshed and havoc, he held high the 
1 of chastity, and, in company agreeable lo Vvm, oivJA 
ie to il as the safeguard of civil lite. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



When he withdrew into the house, Mrs. Hannaford followi 
him. 0!ga, always nervous when her father was near, 
silent. Piers Otway, with a new reluctance, was rising | 
return to his studies, when Miss Derwent checked him v ' ' ' 
look. 

" What a perfect afternoon ! " 
"It is, indeed," he murmured, his eyes falling, 
" Olga, are you too tired for another walk ? " 
" I ? Oh no ! I should enjoy it," 
"Do you think" — Irene looked roguishly at her cousij 
" Mr. Otway would forgive us if we begged him to come toT 

Olga smiled, and glanced at the young man with certi 
that he would excuse himself,- 
" We can but ask," she said. 

And Piers, to her astonishment, at once assented, 
did so with sudden colour in his cheeks, avoiding Olga's look. 
So they set forth together; and little by little Piers gren 
remarkably talkative. Miss Derwent mentioned his fathcf, 
declared an interest in Jerome Otway, and this was a subjetL 
on which Piers could always discourse to friendly hearers. 
This evening he did so with exceptional fervour, abounded in 
reminiscences, rose al moments to enthusiasm. His com- 
panions were impressed; to Irene it was an unexpected 
revelation of character. She had imagined young Otway dii 
and rather conventional, perhaps conceited; she found hiir. 
impassioned and an idealist, fuU of hero-worship, devoted I'j 
his father's name and fame. 

"And he lives all the year round in that out-of-the-way 
place?" she asked. "I must make a pilgrimage to Hawes. 
Would he be annoyed ? I could tell him about his old friend) 
at Helsingfors " — 

" He would be delighted to see you ! " cried Piers, his face 
glowing. " Let me know before — let me write " — 
" Is he quite alone ? " 
"No, his wife — my stepmother— is living." 
Irene's quick perception interpreted the change of note. 
" It would really be very interesting — if I can manage to get 
so far," she said, less impulsively. 

They walked the length of the great avenue at Nonsuch, 
and back again in the golden light of the west. Piers Ot\t4|^ 
disregarded the beauty of earth and sky, he had eyes ^H 
nothing but the face and form beside him. At dinner, m^H 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 133 

dull by Hannaford's presence, he lived still in the dream of his 
delight, listening only when Irene spoke, speaking only when 
she addressed him, which she did several times. The meal 
over, he sought an excuse for spending the next hour in the 
drawing-room; but Mrs. Hannaford, unconscious of any 
change in his habits, offered no invitation, and he stole silently 

He did not light his lamp, but sat in the dim afterglow till it 
faded through dusk into dark. He sat without movement, in 
an enchanted reverie. And when night had fallen, he suddenly 
threw off his clothes and got into bed, where for hours he lay 
dreaming in wakefulness. 

-He rose at eight the next morning, and would, under 
ordinary circumstances, have taken a book till breakfast. But 
no book could hold him, for he had already looked from the 
window, and in the garden below had seen Irene, Panting 
with the haste he had made to finish his toilet, he stepped 
towards her. 

"Three hours' work already, I suppose," she said, as they 
shook hands. 

"Unfortunately, not one. I overslept myself." 

" Come, that's reasonable I There's hope of you. Tell me 
about this examination, What are the subjects ? " 

He expounded the matter as they walked up and down. It 
led to a question regarding the possibilities of such a career as 
he had in view. 

" To tell the truth, I haven't thought much about that," said 
Piers, with wandering look. " My idea was, I fancy, to get a 
means of earning my living which would leave me a good deal 
of time for private work." 

" What, literary work ? " 

" No ; 1 didn't think of writing. I like study for its own sake." 

" Then you have no ambitions, of the common kind ? " 

" Well, perhaps not. I suppose I have been influenced by 
my father's talk about that kind of thing." 

"To be sure." 

He noticed a shrinking movement in Miss Derwent and saw 
that Hannaford was approaching. This dislike of the man, 
involuntarily betrayed, gave Piers an exquisite pleasure. Not 
only because it showed they had a strong feeling in common 

Bwoold have deiighted him in any case, for he ■^ " " " 
* tiuinan being wbo approached Irene. 



^^M Hatin: 

^^M home ag 
^^P days. / 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



Hatinafoid made known at breakfast that he was leavfl 
home again that afternoon, and might be absent for sevajT 
days. A sensitive person must have felt the secret satisfactif 
caused all round the table by this announcement ; Hannafol 
whether he noticed it or not, was completely indifferent ; 
letters he had received took most of his attention during fl 
meal. One of them related to an appointment in Lond 
which he was trying to obtain ; the news was favourable, i 
it cheered him. 

An hour later, as he sat writing in his study, Mrs. HannafJ 
brought in a parcel which had just arrived for him. 

" Ah, what's that ? " he asked, looking up with interest. 

"I'm sure I don't know," answered his wife, "Someth^ 
with blood on it, I daresay." 

Hannaford uttered a crowing laugh of scorn and amusem J 

Through the afternoon Piers Otway sat in the garden v 
the ladies. After tea he again went for a walk with Olga d 
Irene. After dinner, he lingered so significantly, that M 
Hannaford invited him to the drawing-room, and with unq 
cealed pleasure he followed her thither. When at lengtl^ 
had taken his leave for the night, there was a short s" 
Mrs. Hannaford glancing from her daughter to Irene, 
smiling reflectively. 

"Mr. Otway seems to be taking a holiday," she said at 
length, 

" Yes, so it seemed to me," fell from Olga, who caught her 
mother's eye. 

" It'll do him good," was Miss Derwent's remark. She 
exchanged no glance with the others, and seemed to be 
thinking of something else, J 

Next morning, though the sun shone brilliantly, she did n iW 
appear in the garden before breakfast From a window abon^B 
eyes were watching, watching in vain. At the meal Irene l^fl 
her wonted self, but she did not enter into conversation v9^ 
Otway. The young man had grown silent again. ^t 

Heavily he went up to his room. Mechanically he seatffl 
himself at the table. But, instead of opening books, he prap^^f 
his head upon his hands, and so sat for a long, long time. ^H 

When thoughts began to shape themselves (at first he ^^| 
not think, but lived in a mere tumult of emotions) he recal^H 
Irene's question : what career had he really in view? A d^H 
respectable clerkship, with two oi three hundred a year, ^^M 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



e diance of dreary progress by seniority, till it was time to 
aire on a decent pension? That he knew was what the 
^vil Service meant. The far, faint possibility of some 
fsistant secretaryship to some statesman in office; really 
bthii^ else. His inquiries had apprised him of this delight- 
I stale of things, but he had not cared. Now he did care. 
Be was beginning to understand himself better. 

In truth, he had never looked forward beyond a year or 
Ambition, desires, he possessed in no common degree, 
tut as a vague, unexamined impulse. He had dreamt of love, 
but timidly, tremulously ; that was for the time to come. He 
ad dreamt of distinction ; that also must be patiently awaited. 
a the meantime, labour. He enjoyed intellectual effort ; he 
i^oried in the amassing of mental riches, 

" To follow Knowledge like a sinking star, 
Beyond the iitmost bound of human thought " — 
e lines were frequently in his mind, and helped to shape 
; enthusiasm. Consciously he subdued a great part of 
Iiimself, binding his daily life in asceticism. He would not 
live in London because he dreaded its temptations. Gladly 
he adhered to his father's principles in the matter of food and 
drink; this helped him to subdue his body, or at least he 
Btiiought so. He was happiest when, throwing himself into 
Bied after some fourteen hours of hard reading, he felt the 
Brtupor of utter weariness creep upon him, with certainty of 
Btblivion until the next sunrise. 

B He did not much reflect upon the course of his life hitherto, 
^vith its false starts, its wavering ; he had not experience enough 
Wb understand their significance. Of course his father was 
^mainly responsible for what had so far happened. Jerome 
^^way, whilst deciding that this youngest son of his should be 
^Kt in the sober way of commerce, to advance himself, if fate 
^Hcased, through recognised grades of social respectability, was 
^Ky no means careful to hide from the lad his own rooted 
Hpntempt of such ideals. Nothing could have been more 
^ftcoQsistent than the old agitator's behaviour in attempting to 
^Bscbarge this practical duty. That he meant well was all 
^Bie could say of him ; for it was not permissible to suppose 
^Brome Otway defective in intelligence. Perhaps the outcome 
^B solicitude in the case of his two elder sons had so far 
^Bscouraged him, that, on the first symptoms O^ "m'iVafe&Vi, 
^m ceased to regard Piers as within his influence. 



36 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



b 



Piers, this morning, had a terrible sense of loneliness, 
abandonment. The one certainty by which he had lived, hid 
delight in books, his resolve to become erudite, now of f 
sudden vanished. He did not know himself; he w 
strange world, and bewildered. Nay, he was suffering 

Why had Miss Derweiit disregarded him at breakfast ? 
must have offended her last night And that could only b 
in one way, by neglecting his work to loiter about tht 
drawing-room. She had respected him at all events ; 
doubt, she fancied he had not deserved her respect. 

This magnificent piece of self- torturing logic sufficed I 
occupy him all the morning. 

At luncheon-time he was careful not to come down befor 
the bell rang. As he prepared himself, the glass showed | 
drawn visage, heavy eyes ; he thought he was uglier than e 

Descending, he heard no voices. With tremors he stepp* 
into the dining-room, and there sat Mrs. Hannaford alone. 

"They have gone off for the day," she said, with a kin. 
look, "To Dorking, and Leith Hill, and I don't knai 
where." 

Piers felt a stab through the heart. He stammered si 
thing about a hope that they would enjoy themselves. The" 
meal passed very silently, for Mrs. Hannaford was meditative- 
She paid unusual attention to Piers, trying to tempt his 
appetite ; but with difficulty he swallowed a mouthful. And, 
the meal over, he returned at once to his room. 

About four o'clock — he was lying on the bed, staring at the 
ceiling — a knock aroused him. The servant opened the door- 

" A gentleman wanting to see you, sir — Mr. Daniel Otway," 

Piers was glad. He would have welcomed any visitor. 
When Daniel — who was better dressed than the other day- 
came into the room, Piers shook hands warmly with him. 

" Delightful spot ! " exclaimed the elder, with more than 
his accustomed suavity. " Charming little house ! — I hope I j 
shan't be wasting your time ? " 

" Of course not. We shall have some tea presently. Ho« I 
glad 1 am to see you! — I must introduce you lo Mi&l 
Hannaford." 

" Delighted, my dear boy ! How well you look ! — stol 
zbouyh ; you are nol looking very well " — 
Piers broke into extravagant gaiety. 




'HERE had only been time to satisfy Daniel's profound 
and touching interest in his brother's work for the 
lination when the tea bell rang, and they went down to 
the drawing-room. Piers noticed that Mrs. Hannaford had 
made a special toilet ; so rarely did a new acquaintance enter 
the house that she was a little fluttered in receiving Daniel 
OtWay, whose manners evidently impressed and pleased her. 
Had he known his brother well, Piers would have understood 
that this exhibition of fine courtesy meant a peculiar interest 
on Daniel's part. Such interest was not difficult to excite ; 
there needed only an agreeable woman's face of a type not 
familiar to him, in circumstances which offered the chance 
of intimacy. And Mrs. Hannaford, as it happened, made 
peculiar appeal to Daniel's sensibilities. As they conversed, 
her thin cheeks grew warm, her eyes gathered light j she 
unfolded a charm of personality barely to be di^-iiied in her 
usual despondent mood. 

Daniel's talk was animated, varied, full of cleverness and 
character. No wonder if his hostess thought that she had 
never met so delightful a man. Incidentally, in quite the 
permissible way, he made known that he was a connoisseur 
of art; he spoke of his travels on the track of this or thai 
old master, of being consulted by directors of great Galleries, 
by wealthy amateurs. He was gracefully anecdotic ; he 
allowed one to perceive a fine enthusiasm. And Piers 
listened quite as attentively as Mrs. Hannaford, for he had 
no idea how Daniel made his living, The kernel of truth 
in this fascinating representation was that Daniel Otway, 
among other things, collected bric-A-brac for a certain dealer, 
and at times himself disposed of it to persons with more 
money than knowledge or taste. At the age of thirty-eight 
was the point he had reached in a careei viVvAv qtick. 
\)sed brilliant things. In whatever pTote55\OTv Ve Vi^ 



38 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

steadily pursued, Daniel would have come to the front; but 
precisely that steady pursuit was the thing impossible to him; 
His special weakness, originally amiable, had become an 
enthralling vice; the soul of goodness in the man was co^ 
rupted, and had turned poisonous. 

The conversation was still unflagging, when Olga and her 
cousin returned from their day's ramble. Daniel was pre- 
sented to them. Olga at once noticed her mother's strange 
vivacity, and, sitting silent, closely observed Mr. Otway. 
Irene, also, studied him with her keen eyes ; not, one woukl 
have guessed, with very satis£actory results. As time was 
drawing on, Mrs. Hannaford presently asked Daniel if be 
could give them the pleasure of staying to dine ; and Danid 
accepted without a moment's hesitation. When the ladiei 
retired to dress, he went up to Piers' room, where a little 
dialogue of some importance passed between the brothers, 

" Have you heard anything about that matter I spoke of?* 
Daniel began by asking, confidentially. 

Piers answered in the affirmative, and gave details, much 
to the elder's satisfaction. Thereupon, Daniel began talking 
in a strain of yet closer confidence, sitting knee to knee with 
Piers, and tapping him occasionally in a fraternal way. It 
might interest Piers to know that he was writing a book-Hi 
book which would revolutionise opinion with regard to certain 
matters, and certain periods of art The work was all but 
finished. Unfortunately, no publisher could be found to bear 
the entire expense of this publication, which of course ap- 
pealed to a very small circle of readers. The illustrations made 
it costly, and — in short, Daniel found himself pressingly in 
need of a certain sum to complete this undertaking, whidi 
could not but establish his fame as a connoisseur, and in all 
likelihood would secure his appointment as Director of a 
certain Gallery which he must not name. The money could 
be had for the asking from twenty persons — a mere bagateDe 
of a hundred and fifty pounds or so; but how mudi 
pleasanter it would be if this little loan could be arranged 
between brothers ! Daniel would engage to return the sum 
on publication of the book, probably some six months hence. 
Of course, he merely threw out the suggestion — 

"I shall be only too glad to help," exclaimed Piers at onoe^^ 
" You shall have the money as soon as I get it." 1 

"That's really noble of you, my dear boy. — By the by« 



' let all Ihis 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 39 

let all this be very strictly tnlre nous. To tell you the truth, 
1 want to give the dear old philosopher of Wensleydale 
a pleasant surprise. I'm afraid he misjudges me ; we have 
not been on the terms of perfect confidence which I should 
desire. But this book will delight him, I know. Let it 
come as a surprise." 

Piers undertook to say nothing ; and Daniel, after washing 
his hands and face, and smoothing his thin hair, was radiant 
with gratification. 

" Charming girl, Miss Uerwent — eh, Piers ? I seem to 
]tnow the name — Dr. Derwent ? IVhy, to be sure I Capital 
acquaintance for you. Lucky rascal, to have got into this 
house. Miss Hannaford, too, has points. Nothing so good 
at your age, my dear boy, as the habit of associating with 
intelligent girls and women. Emotlii mores, and something 
more than that. An excellent influence, every way. I'm no 
preacher. Piers, but I hold by morality ; it's the salt of life — 
the salt of life ! " 

At dinner, Daniel surpassed himself. He told admirable 
stories, he started just the right topics, and dealt with them 
in the right way; he seemed to know intuitively the habits 
f thought of each person he addressed. The hostess was 
dJantj Olga looked almost happy; Irene, after a seeming 
U^Ie with herself, which an unkind observer might have 
Tibuted to displeasure at being rivalled in talk, yielded to 
e cheery influence, and held her own against the visitor 
, wit and merriment Not till half-past ten did Daniel 
jolve to tear himself away. His thanks to Mrs. Hannaford 
"an enjoyable evening" were spoken with impressive 
Erity, and the lady's expression of hope that they might 
jneet again made his face shine. 

"' I^ers accompanied him to the station. After humming to 
self for a few moments, as they walked along the dark 
, Daniel slipped a hand through his brother's arm and 
loke affectionately. 

"Vou don't know how glad 1 am that we have met, old 
y ( Now don't let us lose sight of each other. — By the bye, 
a you ever hear of Alec ? " 

C Alexander, Jerome Otway's second son, had not com- 
Icated with his father for a good many years. His 
tation was that of a good-natured wastrel, Piws ve^VwA 
t be lojew nothing H'hatever of him. 



r 

^^V Alec 

^^ f3ll1t=_ 

I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 

He is in London," pursued Daniel, "and he is rath< 
anxious to meet you. Now lei me give you a word of warnin 
Alec isn't at all a bad sort. I confess I like him, for all h 
faults — and unfortunately he has plenty of them ; but 
you, Piers, he would be dangerous. Dangerous, first of a 
because of his want of principle — ^you know my feelings c 
that point. Then, I'm afraid he knows of your .little inheri 
ance, and he might — I don't say he would — but he i 
be tempted to presume upon your good -nature, 
understand ? " 

"What is he doing?" Piers inquired. 

" Nothing worth speaking of, I fear. Alec has no stabili 
— so unlike you and me in that. You and I inherit the bra» 
old man's love of work ; Alec was born an idler. If I thou£_ 
you might influence him for good — but no, it is too risi^ 
One doesn't like to speak so of a brother. Piers, but I feel 
my duty to warn you against poor Alec. Basta I " 

That night Piers did not close his eyes, The evenin] 
excitement and the unusual warmth of the weather i 
hanced the feverishness due to his passionate thought 
Before daybreak he rose and tried to read, but no bo( 
would hold his attention. Again he flung himself on to t" 
bed, and lay till sunrise vainly groaning for sleep. 

With the new day came a light rain, which threatened 
continue. Dulness ruled at breakfast. The cousins spol 
fitfully of what they might do if the rain ceased. 

"A good time for work," said Irene to Piers, 
perhaps it's all the same to you, rain or shine?" 

" Much the same," Piers answered mechanically. 

He passed a strange morning. Though to begin with I 
had seated himself resolutely, the attempt to study wj 
ridiculous ; the sight of his books and papers moved him I 
loathing. He watched the sky, hoping to see it broken. "" 
stood by his door, listening, listening, if perchance he n _ 
hear the movements of the girls, or hear a word in Irem 
voice. Once he did hear her; she called to Olga, laughing! 
and at the sound he quivered, his breath stopped. 

The clouds parted; a fresh breeze unveiled the sumra 
blue. Piers stood at the window, watching ; and at length 
had his reward ; the cousins came out and walked along t 
garden paths, conversing intimately. At one moment, Ol 
jsi-e s glance up at his window, and Vic dailad ba.clt, fearful < 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 4' 

Tiaving been detected. Were they talking of him ? How 
would Miss Derwent speak of him ? Did he interest her in 
the least ? 

He peeped again. Irene was standing with her hands 
linked at the back of her head, seeming to gaze at a lovely cloud 
above the great elm tree. This attitude showed her to perfec- 
tion. Piers felt sick and dizzy as his eyes fed upon her form. 

At an impulse as sudden as irresistible, he pushed up the 
sash. 

" Miss Hannaford ! It's going to be fine, you see." 

The girls turned lo him with surprise. 

" Shall you have a walk after lunch ? " he continued. 

" Certainly," replied Olga. " We were just talking about it." 

A moment^s pause — then : 

" Would you lei me go with you ? " 

"Of course — if you can really spare the time." 

"Thank you." 

He shut down the window, turned away, stood in an agony 
of shame. Why had he done this absurd thing? Was it not 
as good as telling them that he had been spying? Irene's 
absolute silence meant disapproval, perhaps annoyance. And 
Olga's remark about his ability to spare time had hinted the 
same thing ; her tone was not quite natural ; she averted her 
look in speaking. Idiot that he was ! He had forced his 
company upon them, when, more likely than not, they much 
preferred to be alone. Oh, tactless idiot ! Now they would 
never be able to walk in the garden without a suspicion that 
he was observing them. 

He all but resolved to pack a travelling-bag and leave home 
at once. It seemed impossible to face Irene at luncheon. 

When the bell rang, he stole, slunk, downstairs. Scarcely 
had he entered the dining-room, when he began an apology ; 
'X all, he could not go this afternoon ; he must work ; the 
d tempted him, bat— 

r, Otway," said Irene, regarding him with mock sternness, 
■ don't allow that kind of thing. It is shameful vadljation 

r love a long word — What's the other word I was trying 
Tor? — still longer — I mean, tergiversation 1 It comes from 
Itrgum and verso, and means turning the back. It is rude to 
mm your back on ladies." 

"era would have liked to fall at het feel, in Viva's o\c^«5s 
tode. She bad rescued him from Viis sYiame,\\aA'^'fK^ 



42 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

end to all awkwardness, and, instead of merely permitting, had. 
invited his company. 

" That decides it, Miss Derwent. Of course I shall coi 
Forgive me for being so miciviL" 

At lunch and during their long walk afterwards, Irene 
very gracious to him. She had never talked with him in snch;- 
a tone of entire friendliness ; all at once they seemed to htiC: 
become intimate. Yet there was another change less pleasmK 
to the young man; Irene talked as though either she had 
become older, or he younger. She counselled him with 
serious kindness, urged him to make rational rules about stu^ 
and recreation. 

".You're overdoing it, you know. To-day you don't look 
very well." 

" I had no sleep last night," he replied abruptly, shuniuqg 
her gaze. 

"That's bad. You weren't so foolish as to try to make 19 
for lost time ? " 

" No, no L I couldtCt sleep." 

He reddened, hung his head. Miss Derwent grew almost 
maternal. This, she pointed out, was the natural result of 
nerves overstrained. He must really use common saise. 
Come now, would he promise ? 

" I will promise you anything ! " 

Olga glanced quickly at him from one side ; Irene, on the 
other, looked away with a slight smile. 

" No," she said, " you shall promise Miss Hannaford. She 
will have you under observation; whereas you might play 
tricks with me, after I'm gone. Olga, be strict with this young 
gentleman. He is well-meaning, but he vacillates; at times 
he even tergiversates — ^a shocking thing." 

There was laughter, but Piers suffered. He felt humiliated. 
Had he been alone with Miss Derwent, he might have 
asserted his manhood, and it would have been ker turn to 
blush, to be confused. He had a couple of years more than 
she. The trouble was that he could not feel this superiority 
of age ; she treated him like a schoolboy, and to himself he 
seemed one. Even more than Irene's, he avoided Olga's 
look, and walked on shamefaced. 

The remaining days, until Miss Derwent departed, w^ere to 
him a mere blank of misery. Impossible to open a book, and 
sleep came only with uttermost exhaustion. How he passed 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 43 

the hours, he knew not. Spying at windows, listening for 
voices, creeping hither and thither in torment of multiform 
ignominy, forcing speech when he longed to be silent, not 
daring to break silence when his heart seemed bursting with 
desire to utter itself — a terrible time. And Irene persevered 
in her elder-sister attitude ; she was kindness itself, but never 
seemed to remark a strangeness in his look and manner. 
Once he found courage to say that he would like to know Dr. 
Derwent ; she replied that her father was a very busy man, but 
that no doubt some opportunity for their meeting would arise — 
and that was all. When the moment came for leave-taking, 
Piers tried to put all his soul into a look ; but he failed, his 
^yes dropped, even as his tongue faltered. And Irene Derwent 
n^as gone. 

If, in the night that followed, a wish could have put an 
ind to his existence. Piers would have died. He saw no 
xope in living, and the burden seemed intolerable. Love- 
i^nguish of one-and-twenty ; we smile at it, but it is anguish 
C\\ the same, and may break or mould a life. 



*«K* 



I". 



CHAPTER VII I 

A WEEK went by, and Piers was as far as ever from IJ^ 
suming his r^ular laborious life. One day he spent II: 
London. His father's solicitor had desired to see him, in iit' 
matter of the legacy ; Piers received his money, and on the 
same day made over one hundred and fifty pounds to Daod 
Otway, whom he met by appointment; in exchange, Daniel 
handed him a beautifully written I.O.U., which the younger 
brother would pocket only with protest 

Another week passed. Piers no longer pretended to keep 
his usual times; he wandered forth whenever home gret 
intolerable, and sometimes snatched his only sleep in the 
four-and-twenty hours under the hawthorn blossom of so«B 
remote meadow. His mood had passed into bitterness. "I 
was well before ; why did she interfere with me ? She did 't 
knowing what would happen ; it promised her amusement, I 
should have kept to myself, and have been safe. She 
waylaid me. That first meeting on the stairs" — 

He raged against her and against all women. 

One evening, towards sunset, he came home dusty and 
weary and with a hang-dog air, for he had done something 
which made him ashamed. Miles away from Ewell thirst and 
misery had brought him to a wayside inn, where — the first 
time for years — he drank strong liquor. He drank more 
than he needed, and afterwards fell asleep in a lane, and woke 
to new wretchedness. 

As he entered the house and was about to ascend the 
stairs, a voice called to him. It was Mrs. Hannaford's; 
she bade him come to her in the drawing-room. Reluctandy 
he moved thither. The lady was sitting idle and alone ; she 
looked at him for a moment without speaking, then beckoned 
him forward. 

** Your brother has been here," she said, in a low voice 
quite her own. 

44 




I THE CROWN OF LIFE 45 

Iwiiel?" 
'fis. He called very soon after yoa had gone out. He 
bt — couldn't stay. He'll let you know when he is 
ig next time." 
" Oh, all right." 

"Come and sit down," She pointed to a chair next hers. 
How tired you look !" 

Her tone was very soft, and, as he seated himself, she 
luched his arm gently. The room was scented with roses. 
L blind half-drawn on the open window broke the warm 
■estern rays; upon a tree near by, a garden warbler was 
iping evensong. 

"What is iiP" she asked, with a timid kindness. "What 
as happened? Won't you tell me?" 

fou know — I am sure you know " — 
i voice was choked into silence, 
at you will get over it — oh yes, you will! Your 
can't work ! " he broke out vehemently — " I shall never 
'Ork again. She has changed all my life. I must find 
amethmg else to do — I don't care what. I can't go in 
jr that examination." 

Then abruptly he turned lo her with a look of eagerness. 

"Would it be any use? Suppose I got a place in one of 
lie offices ? Would there be any hope for me ? " 

Mrs. Hannaford's eyes dropped. 

" Don't think of her," she answered. " She has such 
ifilliant prospects— it is so unlikely. You think me unsym- 
<athetic — oh, I'm not ! " Again she let her fingers rest on 
is arm. "I feel so much with you that I daren't offer 
naginary hopes. She belongs to such a different world, try, 
ry to forget her." 

" Of course I know she cares and thinks nothing about me 
lOW. But if I made my way " — 

" She will marry very early, and someone " — 

With an upward movement of her hand, the speaker was 
ufficiently explicit. Otway, he knew not why, tried to laugh, 
nd frightened himself witli the sound. 

"She is not the only girl, good and beautiful," Mrs, Hanna- 
nd continued, pleading with him. 

"^ me she is," he replied, in a hard vol':^. " E«A \ 
b she win be always, " 



\ 



46 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

For a minute or two, the little warbler sang in silence, tj 
Piers of a sudden stood up, and strode hastily away. 

Mrs. Hannaford fell into reverie. Her daughter was 
Ijondon to-day, her husband absent somewhere else. But 
she had not been solitary, for Daniel Otway, failing to meet 
his brother, lingered a couple of hours in the drawing-room, 
As she sat dreaming under the soft light, her face relieved for 
the moment of its weariness and discontent, had a beauty 
more touching than that of youth. 

Upstairs Piers found a letter awaiting him. He did not 
know the writing, and found with surprise that it came from 
his brother Alexander, who had addressed it to him throi 
their father's solicitor. Alexander wrote from the neighbi 
hood of Bloomsbury Square ; it was an odd letter, beginni 
formally, almost paternally, and running off bto chirruping' 
facetiousness, as if the writer had tried in vain to subdue his 
natural gaiety. There were extraordinary phrases. " I con- 
gratulate you on bemg gazetted major in the regiment of Old 
Time." "For my own part I am just beginning my thirty- 
fifth round with knuckly life, and I rejoice to say that I have 
come up smiling. Floorers 1 have suffered, not a few, in the 
rounds preceding, but I am harder for it, harder and gamer." 
"Shall we not crack a bottle together on this side of the 
circumfluent Oceanus ? " And so on, to the effect that 
Alexander much wished for a meeting with his brother, and 
urged him to come to Theobald's Road as soon as possibl% 
at his own convenience. ■ 

It gave Piers — what he needed badly— something new n 
think about. From what he remembered of Alexander, llfl 
did not dislike him, and this letter made, on the whole, d 
agreeable impression ; but he remembered Daniel's wariaqH 
In any case there could be no harm in calling on his brotbtq 
it made an excuse for a day in London, the country stUlikfl 
having driven htm all but to frenzy. So he replied at o^H 
saying that he would call on the following afternoon. ^H 

Alexander occupied the top floor of a great old hous^H 
Theobald's Road. Whether he was married or not, Piers t^^ 
not heard; the appearance of the place suggested bachdH 
quarters, but, as he knocked at what seemed the likely doM 
there sounded from within an infantine wail, which bec^3| 
alarmingly shrill when the door was thrown open by a d&fl 
//et/e girl At sight of Piers ihis ■joxing person, evideoMH 




THE CROWN OF LIFE 47 

drew back smiling, and said witli a strong Irish 

"Plase to come in. They're expecting of you." 

He passed into a large room, munificently lighted by the 
sunshine, but very simply furnished. A small round table, 
two or three chairs and a piano were lost on the great floor, 
which had no carpeting, only a small Indian rug being displayed 
as a thing of beauty, in the very middle. There were no 
pictures, but here and there, to break the surface of the wall, 
strips of bright-coloured material were hung from the cornice. 
At the table, next the window, sal a man writing, also as his 
lips showed whistling a lune ; and on the bare boards beside 
him sat a young woman with her baby on her lap, another 
child, of two or three years old, amusing itself by pulling her 
dishevelled hair. 

"Here's your brother, Mr. Otw'y," yelled the little servant. 
"Give that baby to me, mum. 1 know whatll quoiet him, 
bless his little heart." 

Alexander sprang up, waving his arm in welcome. He was 
a stoutish man of middle height, with thick curly auburn hair 
and a full beard ; geniality beamed from his blue eyes. 

" Is it yourself. Piers ? " he shouted, with utterance suggest- 
ive of the Emerald Isle, though the man was so loudly English. 
" It does me good to set eyes on you, upon my soul it does ! 
I knew you'd come. Didn't I say he'd come, Biddy ?— Piers, 
this is my wife, Bridget; the best wife living in all the four 
quarters of the world ! " 

Mrs. Otway had risen, and stood smiling, the picture of 
cordiality. She was not a beauty, though the black hair broad- 
flung over her shoulders made no common adornment; but 
her round healthy face, with its merry eyes and gleaming teeth, 
liad an honest attractiveness, and her soft Irish tongue went 
to the heart. It never occurred to her to apologise for the 
■ liiorderly state of things. Having got rid of her fractious 
I i.iby — not without a kiss- — she took the other child by the 
kind and with pride presented "My daughter Leonora"— a 
;ianie which gave Piers a little shock of astonishment 

" Sit down, Piers," shouted her husband, " First we'll have , 
tea and talk ; then we'll have talk and tobacco ; then we'll 
have dinner and talk again, and after that whatever the gods 
please to send us. My day's work is done — ecce signum I" 

He poinied to the slips of manuscript from -wVvtift \i^ V^i 



48 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

risen. Alexander had begun life as a medical student, 
never got so far as a diploma. In many capacities, ofti 
humble but never disgraceful, he had wandered over Broa " 
Britain — drifting at length, as he was bound to do, 
irregular journalism. 

"And how's the old man at home?" he asked, whilst B 
Otway busied herself in getting tea, "Piers, it's tl 
of my life that he hasn't a good opinion of me. I don't | 
I deserve it, but, as I live, I've always meant to ! 
admire htm, Piers. I've written about him ; and I s 
the article, but he didn't acknowledge it. How does he b 
his years, the old Trojan ? And how does his wife use I 
Ah, that was a mistake. Piers ; that was a mistake, 
marriage — and remember this, Piers, for your time '11 com4 
it must be the best, or none at all. I acted upon that, thocf 
Heaven knows the trials and temptations I went through. L 
said to myself. The best or none ! And I found her. Piers ; 
I found her sitting at a cottage door by Enniscorthy, County 
Wexford, where for a time I had the honour of acting as tutc^T 
to a young gentleman of promise, cut short, alas ! — ' the bUa ^ 
Fury with the abhorred shears ' ! I wrote an elegy on hincrm 
which I'll show you. His father admired it, had it printe^::3i 
and gave me twenty pounds, bke the gentleman he was 1 " 

There appeared a handsome tea-service ; the only objection 
to it being that every piece was chipped or cracked, and aot 
one thoroughly clean. Leonora, a well-behaved little creature 
who gave earnest of a striking face, sat on her mother's lap, 
watching the visitor and plainly afraid of him. 

" Well," exclaimed Mrs. Otway, " I should never have taken 
you two for brothers — no, not even the half of it I " 

" He has an intellectual face, Biddy," observed her husband. 

'• Pale just now, but it's 'the pale cast of thought.' What ate 

you aiming at. Piers?" ^! 

" 1 don't know," was the reply, absently spoken. ^H 

"Ah, but I'm sorry to hear that. You should have ci^^| 

centrated yourself by now, indeed you should. If I had ^H 

begin over again, I should go in for commerce." ^^| 

Piers gave him a look of interest. ^^M 

" Indeed ? You mean that ? " ^M 

"1 do. I would apply myself to the science and ait^^| 

money<making in the only hopeful way— booest buying ^^H 

selling. There's something so satisf^liv^ about it. I e^^f 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 49 

#ea the little shopkeeper, who reckons up his profits every 
Saturday night, and sees his business growing. But you must 
begin early ; you must learn money-making like anytliing else. 
If I had made money, Piers, I should be at this moment the 
most virtuous and meritorious citi?,en of the British Empire I " 

Alexander was vexed to find that his brother did not smoke. 
He lit his pipe after tea, and for a couple of hours talked 
ceaselessly, relating the course of his adventurous life ; an 
entertaining story, told with abundant vigour, with humorous 
originality. Though he had in his possession scarce a dozen 
volumes, Alexander was really a bookish man and something 
if a scholar ; his quotations, which were frequent, ranged 
rom Homer to Horace, from Chaucer to Tennyson. He 
•ecited a few of his own poetical composirions, and they might 
lave been worse; Piers made him glow and sparkle with a 
ittle praise. 

Meanwhile, Bridget was putting the children to bed and 
raoking the eveniiig meal — styled dinner for this occasion. 
3oth proceedings were rather tumultuous, but, amid the 
:Iamour they necessitated, no word of ill-temper could he 
teard ; screams of laughter, on the other hand, were frequent. 
Vith manifest pride the little servant came in to lay the table ; 
he only broke one glass in the operation, and her " Sure now, 
vho'd have thought it ! " as she looked at the fragments, 
letighted Alexander beyond measure. The chief dish was 
L stewed rabbit, smothered in onions ; after it appeared an 
mtnense gooseberry tart, the pastry hardly to he attacked 
irith an ordinary table knife, Compromising for the nonce 
irith his tcetolalism as well as his vegetarianism — not to pain 
;he hosts — Piers drank bottled ale. It was an uproarious 
neaL The little servant, whilst in attendance, took her full 
(hare of the conversation, and joined shrilly in the laughter. 
Mrs. Otway had arrayed herself in a scarlet gown, and her hair 
nas picturesquely braided ; she ceased not from hospitable 
ares, and set a brave example in eating and drinking. Yet 
[he was never vulgar, as an untaught London woman in her 
-ircumsiances would have been, and many a delightful phrase 
'•Al from her lips in the mellow language of County Wexford. 

When the remnants of dinner were removed, a bottle of 
(risb whisky came forth, with the due appurtenances. Thet\ 
" I that Alexander, with pride in hia e^e, maie Vv^yjitv 
(fs one accompUsbment ; she had a vo\ce, ani "WQ^ii 



so THE CROWN OF LIFE 

presently use it for their guest's delectation. She was tryia^ 
to learn the piano, as yet with small success ; but Alexandea^ 
who had studied music concurrently with medicine, and to 
better result, was able to fiimish accompaniments. The 
concert b^an, and Piers, who had felt misgivings, was molt 
agreeably surprised. Not only had Bridget a voice, a voj 
sweet mezzo-contralto, but she sang with remarkable feeliD( 
More than once the listener had much ado to keep tears oat 
of his eyes ; they were at his throat all the time, and his heart 
swelled with the passionate emotion which had lurked theie 
to the ruin of his peace. But music, the blessed, the peiO^ 
maker (for music called martial is but a blustering bastaid)^ 
changed his torments to ecstasy ; his love, however hopdeSi 
became an inestimable possession, and he seemed to himsdf 
capable of such great, such noble things as had never entered 
into the thought of man. 

The crying of her baby obliged Bridget to withdraw for a 
little. Alexander, who had already made gallant inroad on 
the whisky bottle, looked almost fiercely at his brother, and 
exclaimed : 

"What do you say to that} Isn't that a woman? Iin*t 
that a wife to be proud of?" 

Piers replied with enthusiasm. 

" Not long ago," proceeded the other, " when we were reaDj 
hard up, she wanted me to let her try to earn money with her 
voice. She could, you know! But do you think I'd aflow 
it ? Sooner Til fry the soles of my boots and make beliete 
they're beefsteak! — Look at her, and remember her when 
you're seeking for a wife of your own. Never mind if yoa 
have to wait ; it*s worth it. When it comes to wives, the best 
or none ! That's my motto." 

In his emotional mood, Piers had an impulse. He bent 
forward, and asked quietly : 

" Are things all right now ? About money, I mean." 

" Oh, we get on. We could do with a little more fumitoie, 
but all in good time." 

Piers again listened to his impulse. He spoke hurriedly of 
the money he had received, and hinted, suggested, made an 
embarrassed offer. Impossible not to remark the gleam of 
joy that came into Alexander's eyes ; though he vehementihrt 
almost angrily, declared such a thing impossible, it was (dai 
he quivered to accept. And in the end accept he did- 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 51 

round fifty pounds. A loan, strictly a loan, of course; the 
most binding legal instrument should be given in acknowledg- 
ment of the debt ; interest should be paid at the rate of three 
andahalf percent, perannum — notadoiCless ! Andjust when 
this was settled, Bridget came back again, the sleepless baby at 
her breast. 

" He wants to have his share of the good company," she 
exclaimed. " And why shouldn't he, bless um ! " 

Alexander grew glorious, It was one of his peculiarities 
that, when he had drunk more than enough, he broke into 
noisy patriotism. 

" Piers, have you ever felt grateful enough for being born an 
Englishman? I've seen the world, and I know; the English- 
man is the top of creation. When I say English, I mean all of 
us, English, Irish, or Scotch. Give me an Englishman and an 
Irishwoman, and let all the rest of the world go hang ! — I've 
travelled, Piers, my boy. I've seen what the great British race 
is doing the world round ; and I'm that proud of it I can't 
find words to express myself." 

" I've seen something of other races," interposed Piers, lift- 
ing his glass with unsteady hand, " and I don't think we've 
any right to despise them." 

" I don't exactly despise them, but I say, What are they 
compared with us ? A poor lot ! A shabby lot ! — I'm a 
journalist. Piers, and let me tell you that wc English news- 
paper men have the destiny of the world in our hands. It 
makes me proud when I think of it. We guard the national 
honour. Let any confounded foreigner insult England, and 
be has to reckon with us. A word from us, and it means war, 
glorious war, with triumphs for the race and for civilisa- 
England means civilisation; the other nations don't 

h, come" — 
I"! tell you they don't count ! " roared Alexander, his hair 
T and his beard ferocious. " You're not one of the muffs 
b want to keep England little and tame, are you ? " 
1 think pretty much with father about these things." 
~" " ! Oh, I'd forgotten the old man, But he's 

k)f our time, Piers ; he's old-fasluoned, though a good old 
t, I admit. No, no ; we must be armed and triple-armed ; we 
strong that not all the confounded foTevgcvero \ea:gie.i 
n touch us. It's the cause ot cm\vsaX\Q'n,Yvw's. \ 



52 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

preach it whenever I get the chance ; I wish I got it oftener. I 
stand for England's honour, England's supremacy on sea and 
land. I st-tand "— 

He tried to do so, to reach the bottle, which proved to be 
empty. 

"Send for another, Biddy — the right Irish, my lass! 
Another bottle to the glory of the British Empire ! Piers, 
we'll make a night of it. I haven't a bed to offer you, but 
Biddy '11 give you a shake-down here on the floor. You're the 
right sort, Piers. You're a noble-minded, generous-hearted 
Englishman." 

Mrs. Otway, with a glance at the visitor, only made pretence 
of sending for more whisky, and Piers, after looking at his 
watch, insisted on taking leave. Alexander would have gone 
with him to the station, but Bridget forbade this. The patriot 
had to be content with promises of another such evening, and 
Piers, saying significantly " You will hear from me," hastened 
to catch his train. 



CHAPTER VIII 

WHEN he awoke next morning from a heavy sleep, Piers 
suffered the half- recollection of some reproachful 
dream. His musty palate and dull brain reminded him of 
Alexander's whisky ; matter, [hat, for self-reproach ; hut in the 
background was something more. He had dreamt of his 
father, and seemed to have discharged in sleep a duty still in 
reality neglected j that, namely, of responding to the old man's 
offer of advice respecting the use he should make of his money. 
Out of four hundred pounds, two hundred were already given 
away, — for he had no serious expectation that his brothers 
would repay the so-called loans. Plainly it behoved him to be 
frank on this subject. Affectionate loyalty to his father had 
ever been a guiding principle in Piers Otway's life ; he was 
uneasy under the sense that he had begun to slip towards 
neglectfulness, towards careless independence. 

He would have written this morning, but, after all, it was 
better to wait until he had settled the doubt which made havoc 
of his days. At heart he knew that he would not present 
himself for the Civil Service examination ; but he durst not 
yet put the resolve into words. It seemed a sort of madness, 
after so many months of laborious preparation, and the fixity 
of purpose which had grown with his studious habit. And 
what a rftum for the patient kindness with which his faiher 
had counselled and assisted him ! He thought of Daniel and 
Alexander, Was he, too, going to drift in hfe, instead of 
following a steadfast, manly course ? The perception and fear 
of such a danger were something new to him. Piers had seen 
himself as an example of moral and intellectual \igour. His 
abandonment of commerce had shown as a strong step in 
practical wisdom ; the fourteen hours of daily reading had 
flattered. his pride. Thereupon came this sudden collapse of 
Uie whole scheme. He could no longer end\ite \.\\e ^to^jtCffl, 
for which he had toiled so strenuously. 



I 

J 



54 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

But for shame, he would have bundled together all the 
books that lay on his table, and have flung them out of si^ 

In the afternoon, he sought a private conversation with His. 
Hannaford. It was not easily managed, as Hannaford and 
Olga were both at home ; but, by watching and waiting, he 
caught a moment when the lady stood alone in the garden. 

" Do you think," he asked, with tremulous, sudden speed), 
" that I might call at Dr. Derwent's ? " 

"Why not?" was the answer, but given with troubled 
countenance. "You mean" — she smiled — "call upon Miss 
Deni^ent There would be no harm ; she is the lady of the 
house, at present" 

" Would she be annoyed ? " 

" I don't see why. But of course I can't answer for another 
person in such things." 

Their eyes met Mrs. Hannaford gazed at him sadly for an 
instant, shook her head, and turned away. Piers went back to 
lonely misery. 

Early next day he stole from the house, and went to 
London. His business was at the tailor's ; he ordered a suit 
of ceremony — the frock coat on which his brother Daniel had 
so pathetically insisted — and begged that it might be ready at 
the earliest possible moment Next he made certain purchases 
in haberdashery. Through it all, he had a most oppressive 
feeling of self-contempt, which — Piers was but one-and-twenty 
— he did not try to analyse. Every shop-mirror which reflected 
him seemed to present a malicious caricature ; he hurried away 
on to the pavement, small, ignoble, silly. His heart did battle, 
and at moments assailed him in a triumph of heroic desire; 
but then again came the sinking moments, the sense of a 
grovelling fellowship with people he despised. 

It was raining. His shopping done, he entered an omnibus, 
which took him as far as the Marble Arch ; thence, beneath 
his umbrella, he walked in search of Bryanston Square. Here 
was Dr. Derwent's house. Very much like a burglar, a be- 
ginner at the business, making survey of his field, he moved 
timidly into the Square, and sought the number ; having found 
it with unexpected suddenness, he hurried past. To be 
detected here would be dreadful; he durst not go to the 
opposite side, lest Irene should perchance be at a window; 
yet he wanted to observe the house, and did, from behind his 
umbrella, when a few doors away. 



I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 55 

Never had he known what it was to feel such an insignifi- 
St mortal. Standing here in the rain, he saw no distinction 
^een himself and the ragged, muddy crossing- sweeper; alike, 
ywere lost in the huge welter of common London. On the 
T hand, there in the hard-fronted, exclusive-looking house 
Irene Derwent, a pear! of women, the prize of wealth, 
tinction, and high manliness. What was this wild dream he 
3 been harbouring? Like a chill wind, reahty smote liim in 
! face ; he turned away, saying to himself that he was cured 
folly. 

On the journey home, he shaped a project. He would seek 
interview with the head of the City house in which he had 
Mit so much time and worked so conscientiously, a quite 
iroachahle man as he knew from experience, and would ask 
le might be allowed to reenter their service; not, however, 
London, but in their place of business at Odessa. He had 
de a good beginning with Russian, and living in Russia, 
ght hope soon to master the language. If necessary, he 
uld support himself at Odessa for a time, until he was 
)able of serving the firm in some position of trust. Yes, 
i what he would do ; it gave him a new hope. For 
!xander, foolish fellow as he might be in some respects, had 
iken the truth on the subject of money-making ; the best 
i surest way was by honourable commerce. Money he must 
; a substantia! position ; a prospect of social advance. 
t for their own sake, these things, hut as steps to the only 
I he felt worth living for^an ideal marriage. 
le marvelled that the end of life should have heen so 
lire to him hitherto. Knowledge ! What satisfaction was 
i in that? I'ame 1 What profit in that hy itself? Yet he 
1 thought these aims predominant ; had heen willing to toil 
r and night in such pursuits. His eyes were opened. His 
t torturing love might he for ever frustrate, but it had 
ealed him to himself. He looked forth upon the world, its 
ivities, its glories, and behold there was for him but one 
e worth winning, the love of the ideal woman. 
Se found a letter at Ewell. It contained a card of invita- 
; Mis. John Jacks graciously announced to him that she 
[Id be at home on an evening a week hence, at nine 

'.ow came he to have forgotten the Jacks family? Not 
! had he mentioned to Miss Detwe'M X\»a.x \\e -ww "s^ 



56 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

friendly terms with these most respectable people. ^Vhat & 
foolish omission ! It would at once have given him a better 
standing in her sight, have smoothed their social relations. 

Instantly, his plan of exile was forgotten. He would accept 
this invitation, and on the same day, in the afternoon, he 
would boldly call at the Derwents*. Why not? — as Mrs. 
Hannaford said. John Jacks, M.P., was undoubtedly the 
social superior of Dr. Derwent; admitted to the house at 
Queen's Gate, one might surely with all confidence present 
oneself in Bryanston Square. Was he not an educated man, 
by birth a gentleman ? If he had no position, why, who had 
at one-and-twenty ? How needlessly he had been humiliating 
and discouraging himself! In the highest spirits he went 
down into the garden to talk with Mrs. Hannaford and Olga. 
They gazed at him, astonished ; he was a new creature ; he 
joked and laughed and could hardly contain his exuberance of 
joy. When there fell from him a casual mention of Mrs. Jacks' 
card, no one could have imagined that this was the explanation 
of his altered mood. Mrs. Hannaford felt sure that he had 
been to see Irene, and had received, or fancied, some sort of 
encouragement. Olga thought so too, and felt sorry to see 
him in a fool's paradise. 

That very evening he sat down and resolved to work. He 
had an appetite for it once more. He worked till long after 
midnight, and on the morrow kept his old hours. ., Moreover, 
he wrote a long letter to Hawes, a good, ftank letter, giving his 
father a full account of the meetings with Daniel and Alexander, 
and telling all about the pecuniary transactions : — " I hope you 
will not think I behaved very foolishly. Indeed, it has given 
me pleasure to share with them. My trouble is lest you 
should think I acted in complete disregard of you ; but, if I 
am glad to do a good turn, remember, dear father, that it is to 
you I owe this habit of mind. And I shall not need money. 
I feel it practically certain that I shall get my office, and then 
it will go smoothly. The examination draws near, and I am 
working like a Trojan ! " 

" I cannot carp at you," wrote Jerome Otway in reply, " but 
tighten the purse-strings after this, and be not overmuch 
familiar with Alexander the Little or Daniel the Purblind. 
Their ways are not mine ; let them not be yours." 

He had to run up to town for the trying-on of his new 
fajwents, and this tim^ the business gave him satisfaction. Jn 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 57 

future he would be seeing much more society; he must have 
a decent regard for appearances. 

His spirits faltered not; they were in harmony with the 
June weather. Never had he laboured to such purpose. 
Everything seemed easy ; he strode with giant strides into the 
field of knowledge. Papers such as would be set him at the 
examination were matter for his mirth, mere schoolboy tests. 
Now and then he rose from study with a troublesome dizziness, 
and of a morning his head generally ached a little ; but these 
were trifles, Frisch ztt /—as a German friend of his at Geneva 
used to say. 

Even on the morning of the great day, he worked ; it was 
to prove his will-power, his worthiness. After lunch, ciad in 
the garb of resprect ability, he went up by a quick train. His 
evening suit he had previously despatched to Alexander's abode, 
where he was to dine and dress. 

At four o'clock he was in Bryanston Square, tremulous but 
sanguine, a different man from him who had sneaked about 
here under the umbrella. He knocked. The servant civilly 
informed him that Miss Dern'ent was not at home, asked his 
name, and bowed him away. 

It was a shock. This possibility had not entered his mind, 
so engrossed was he in forecasting, in dramatising, the details 
of the interview. Looking like one who has received some 
dreadful news, he turned slowly from the door and walked 
away with head down. Probably no event in alt his life had 
given him such a sense of desolating frustration. At once the 
sky was overcast, the ways were woebegone ; he shrank within 
his new garments, and endured once more the feeling of 
personal paltriness. 

Though the time before him was so long, he had no choice 
but lo go at once to Theobald's Road, where at all events 
friendly faces would greet him. The streets of London are 
terrible to one who is both lonely and unhappy ; the indiffer- 
ence of their hard egotism becomes fierce hostility ; instead of 
merely disregarding, they crush. As soon as he could com- 
mand his thoughts, Piers made for the shortest way, and 
hurried on. 

Mrs, Otway admitted him ; Alexander, she said, was away 
on business, but would soon return. On entering the large 
r. njm, Piers was startled at the change in its appeaiajvet. TVe, 
.'.U-carpeied Hoor, tfte numerous chairs of inviim^ d^V''-^ ^"^^ 



58 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

softness, the centre-table, the handsome bureau, the numerous 
pictures, and a multitude of knick-knacks not to be taken in 
at one glance, made it plain that most of the money he hid 
lent his brother had been expended at once in this direction. 
Bridget stood watching his face, and at the first glimmer of a 
smile broke into jubilation. What did he think ? How did 
he like it? Wasn't it a room to be pr-roud of? She knew it 
would do his kind heart good to see such splendours ! Let 
him sit down — after selecting his chair — and take it all in 
whilst she got some tea. No wonder it took away his breath! 
She herself had hardly yet done gazing in mute ecstasy. 

"It's been such a feast for my eyes, Mr. Piers, that Fve 
scarcely wanted to put a bit in my mouth since the room was 
finished ! " 

When Alexander arrived, he greeted his brother as thou^ 
with rapturous congratulation ; one would have thought some 
great good fortune had befallen the younger man. 

" Biddy ! " he shouted, " I've a grand idea ! We'll celebrate 
the occasion with a dinner out; we'll go to a restaurant 
Hanged if you shall have the trouble of cooking on sudi a 
day as this ! Get ready ; make yourself beaudful — though 
you're always that. We'll dine early, as Piers has to leave as 
at nine o'clock." 

Outcries and gesticulations confirmed the happy thought 
Tea over. Piers was dismissed to the bedroom (very bore and 
uncomfortable, this) to don his evening suit, and by six o'clock 
the trio set forth. They drove in a cab to festive regions, and, 
as one to the manner born, Alexander made speedy arrange- 
ments for their banquet. An odd-looking party; the young 
man's ceremonious garb and not ungraceful figure contrasting 
with his brother's aspect of Bohemian carelessness and jollity, 
whilst Bridget, adorned in striking colours, would have passed 
for anything you like but a legitimate and devoted spouse. 
Once again did Piers stifle his conscience in face of the 
exhilarating bottle ; indeed, he drank " deliberately to drown 
his troubles, and before the second course had already to 
some extent succeeded. 

Alexander talked of his journalistic prospects. Whether 

there was any special reason for hopefulness, Piers could not 

discover ; it seemed probable that here also the windfall of j 

fifty pounds had changed the aspect of the world. To hear j 

him, one might have supposed ihact the struggling casual J 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 59 

contributor had suddenly been offered some brilliant appoint- 
ment on a. great journal ; but he discoursed with magnificent 
vagueness, and could not be brought to answer direct questions. 
His attention to the wine was unremittent; he kept his 
brother's glass full, nor was Bridget allowed to shirk her 
convivial duty. At dessert appeared a third botUe ; by this 
time. Piers was drinking without heed to results ; jovially, 
mechanically, glass after glass, talking, too, in a strain of 
nebulous imaginativeness. There could be little doubt, he 
hinted, that one of his Parliamentary friends (John Jacks had 
been insensibly mulriplied) would give him a friendly lift A 
secretaryship was sure to come pretty quickly, and then, who 
Jcnew what opening might present itself! He wouldn't mind 
a consulship, for a year or two, at some agreeable place. But 
eventually — who could doubt it ? — he would enter the House. 
Why, of course ! cried Alexander ; the outline of his career was 
plain beyond discussion. And let him go in strong for Home 
Rule. That would be the great question for the next few 
years, until it was triumphantly settled. Private information 
— from a source only to be hinted at — assured him that Mr. 
Gladstone (after the recent defeat) was already hard at work 
preparing another Bill. Come now, they must drink Home 
Rule — "Justice to Ireland, and the world-supremacy of the 
British Empire ! " —that was his toast. They interrupted their 
sipping of green Chartreuse to drink it in brimming glasses of 
claret, 

"We'll drive you to Queen's Gate ! " said Alexander, when 
Piers began to look at his watch. " No hurry, my boy ! The 
night is young! 'And'"— he broke into lyric quotation — 
" * haply the Queen Moon is on her throne, clustered around 
with all her starry fays.' — I shall never forget this dinner ; shall 
you, Biddy ? We'll have a song when we get home." 

One little matter had to be attended to, the paying of the 
bill. Having glanced carelessly at the total, Alexander began 
to search his pockets. 

" Why, hang it 1 " he exclaimed. " What a fellow I am ! 
Piers, it's really too absurd, but I shall have to ask you to lend 
me a sovereign ; I can't make up enough^stupid carelessness ! 
Biddy, why didn't you ask me if I'd got money? — No, no; 
just a sovereign. Piers ; I have the rest, I'll pay you back 
loirow morning." 
llh biughier at such a capital joke, J?ieis feWisei ^^ 



TP" 



60 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 

,"*! 



P 



coin. Quaint, comical fellow, this brother of his ! He lil 
him, and was beginning to like Biddy too. 

A cab bore them all to Queen's Gate, Alexander and 
wife making the journey just for the fun of the thing. Piers 
would have paid for the vehicle back to Theobald's Road, but 
this his brother declined ; he and Mrs. Otway preferred the 
top of a 'bus this warm night. They parted at Mr. Jacks' 
door, where carriages and cabs were stopping every minute ot 
two. 

"I'll sit up for you. Piers," roared Alexander genii 
" You'll want a whisky-and-soda after this job. Come ali 
Biddy ! " 

In another frame of mind, Piers would have felt the impi 
priety of these loud remarks at such a moment. Even as 
was, he would doubtless have regretted the incident had he 
turned his head to observe the two persons who had just 
alighted and were moving up the steps close behind him. A 
young, slim, perfectly equipped man, with features expressive 
of the most becoming sentiment ; a lady — or girl — of admiral " 
figure, with bright, intelligent, handsome face. These 
exchanged a look ; they exchanged a discreet murmur ; 
were careful not to overtake Piers Otway in the hall. 

He, hat and overcoat surrendered, moved up the gleaming 
staircase. A sound of soft music fluttered his happy temper. 
Seeing his form in a mirror, he did not at once recognise 
himself; for his face had a high colour, with the result of 
making him far more comely than at ordinary times. 
stepped firmly on, delighted to be here, eager to perceive 
hostess. Mrs, Jacks, for a moment, failed to remember li' 
but needless to say that ibis did not appear in her greet 
which, as she recollected, dropped upon a tone of si 
friendliness. To her. Piers Otway was the least interestil 
young men ; but her husband had spoken of him very fai 
ably, and Mrs. Jacks had a fine sense of her duty on 
points. Piers was dazzled by the lady's personal charm 
brilliantly pure complexion, her faultless shoulders and 
white arms, her pose of consummate dignity and coui 
Happily, his instincts and his breeding held their own a| 
perilous circumstance; excited as he was, nothing of the 
appeared in his brief colloquy with the hostess, and he acqui 
himself very creditably. A little farther on, John J) 
advanced to htm with cordial wekome. 



sive 
aiiH 



""So gU 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



" So glad yoti could come. By the bye " — he lowered his 
voice — " if you have any trouble about trains back to Eweil, 
do let us put you up for the night. Just stay or not, as you 
like. Delighted if you do." 

Piers replied that he was staying at his brother's. Where- 
upon John Jacks became suddenly thoughtful, said, "Ah, I 
see," and with a pleasant smile turned to someone else, Only 
when it was too late did Piers remember that Mr. Jacks possibly 
had a private opinion about Jerome Otway's elder sons. He 
wished, above all things, that he could have accepted the 
invitation. But doubtless it would be repeated some other time. 

As he looked about him at the gathering guests, he recalled 
his depression this afternoon in Bryanston Square, and it 
seemed to him so ridiculous that he could have laughed aloud. 
As if he would not have other chances of calling upon Irene 
Derwent ! Ah, but, to be sure, he must provide himself with 
visiting-cards. A trifling point, but he had since reflected on 
it with some annoyance. 

A hand was extended to him, a pink, delicate, but shapely 
hand, which his eyes fell upon as he stood in half-reverie. He 
exchanged civilities with Arnold Jacks. 

"I think some particular friends of yours are here," said 
Arnold. "The Derwents"— 

"Indeed! Are they? Miss Derwent ? " 

Piers' vivacity caused the other to examine him curiously. 

" I only learned a day or two ago," Arnold pursued, " that 
you knew each other." 

" I knew Miss Derwent I haven't met Dr. Derwent or her 
brother. Are they here yet ? I wish you would introduce me." 

Again Arnold, smiling discreetly, scrutinised the young man's 
countenance, and for an instant seemed to reflect as he glanced 
around. 

"The Doctor perhaps hasn't come. But I see Eustace 
Derwent, Shall we go and speak to him ? " 

They walked towards Irene's brother, Piers gazing this way 
and that in eager hope of perceiving Irene herself He was 
wild with delight. Could Fortune have been kinder? Under 
what more favourable circumstance could he possibly have 
renewed his relations with Miss Derwent? Eustace, turning 
at the right moment, stood face to face with Arnold Jacks, who 
presented his companion, then moved away. Had Kt 
lingered, John Jacks' critical son would ha.ve foMwiVvcA?. W 




63 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



amused speculation in the scene that followed. For Eustace 
Derwent, remembering, as always, what he owed to himself 
and to society, behaved with entire politeness ; only, like 
certain beverages downstairs, it was iced. Otway did not ■ 
immediately become aware of this. 

"I think we missed each other only by an hour or twi 
when you brought Miss Derwent to Ewell. That very d^ 
curiously, I was lunching here." 

"Indeed?" said Eustace, with a marble smile. 

"Miss Derwent is here, I hope?" pursued Piers ; not wi 
any oifensive presumption, but speaking as he thought, rath 
impetuously. 

" I believe Miss Derwent is in the room," was the answdj 
uttered with singular gravity and accompanied with a particQ 
larly freezing look. 

This time. Piers could not but feel that Eustace Derwea 
was speaking oddly. In his peculiar condition, however, b 
thought it only an amusing characteristic of the young max 
He smiled, and was about to continue the dialogue, whei 
with a slight, quick bow, the other turned away. 

" Disagreeable fellow, that ! " said Piers to himself. " 
hope the Doctor isn't like him. Who could imagine hit 
Irene's brother?" 

His spirits were not in the least affected; indeed, evafl 
moment they grew more exuberant, as the wine he had drunj 
wrought progressively upon his brain, Only he could ha 
wished that his cheeks and ears did not bum so; seai 
himself again in a glass, he decided that he was really ti 
high-coloured. It would pass, no doubt. Meanwhile, I: 
eyes kept seeking Miss Derwent. The longer she escaped 
him, the more vehement grew his agitation. Ah, there! 

She was seated, and had been hidden by a little group 
standing in front. At this moment, Eustace Derwent was 
bending to speak to her ; she gave a nod in reply to what h/tA 
said. As soon as the objectionable brother moved from b " 
side. Piers stepped quickly forward. 

" How delightful to meet you here ! It seems loo good 10^ 
be true. I called this afternoon at your house — called to aeS 1 
you — but you were not at home. I little imagined I shotddjJ 
see you this evening," 

Irene raised her eyes, and let them fall back upon her fii 
raised them again, and observed the speaker attentively. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 63 

" I was told you had called, Mr. Olway." 

How her voice thrilled him ! What music like that voice ! 
It made him live through his agonies again, which by contrast 
heightened the rapture of this hour. 

" May I sit down by you ? " 

" Pray do." 

He remarked nothing of her coldness ; he was conscious 
only of her presence, of the perfume which breathed from her 
and made his heart faint with longing. 

Irene again glanced at him, and her countenance was 
troubled. She looked to left and right, sure that they were 
not overheard, and addressed him with quick directness. 

" Where did you dine, Mr. Otway ? " 

"Dine?^Oh, at a restaurant, ivith one of my brothers and 
his wife." 

"Did your brother and his wife accompany you to this 
house ? " 

Piers was startled. He gazed into her face, and Irene 
allowed him to meet her eyes, which reminded him most un- 
pleasantly of the look he had seen in those of Eustace. 

"Why do you ask that, Miss Derwentt"' he faltered. 

" I will tell you. I happened to be just behind you as you 
entered, and couldn't help hearing the words shouted to you 
by your brother. Will you forgive me for mentioning such a 
thing? And, as your friend, will you let me say that I think 
it would be unfortunate if you were introduced to my father 
this evening? He is not here yet, but he will be, — I have 
taken a great liberty, Mr. Otway ; but it seemed to me that 
I had no choice. When an unpleasant thing ias to be done, 
I always try to do it quickly," 

Piers was no longer red of face. A terrible sobriety had 
fallen upon him ; his lips quivered ; cold currents ran down 
his spine. He looked at Irene with the eyes of a dog en- 
treating mercy. 

"Had 1" — his dry throat forced him to begin again — "had 
I better go now?" 

" That is as you think fit." 

Piers stood up, bowed before her, gave her one humble, 
imploring look, and walked away. 

He went down, as though to the supper-room ; in a few 
H jDtnutes, he had left the house. He walked to Walwlwi 
Hl|tation, and by the last train returned lo TLwe,\\. 



CHAPTER IX 

AT the head of Wensleydale, where rolling moor groi 
mountainous toward the inarches of Yorkshire 
WestKiorland, stands the little market-town named Hai 
One winding street of houses and shops, grey, hard-featui 
stout against the weather ; with little byways climbing to tl 
height above, on which rises the rugged church, stem even n 
sunshine ; its tower, like a stronghold, looking out upon the 
brooding- place of storms. Like its inhabitants, the place is 
harsh of aspect, warm at heart ; scornful of graces, its honest 
solidity speaks the people that buiil it for their home. This 
way and that go forth the well-kept roads, leading to other 
towns ; their sharp tracks shine over the dark moorland, 
climbing by wind-swept hamlets, by many a lonely farm; 
dipping into sudden hollows, where streams become cascades, 
and guiding the wayfarers by high, rocky passes from dale 
dale. A country always impressive by the severe beauq* 
its outlines; sometimes speaking to the heart 
stillness, its moments of repose; mirthful sometimes, ins[Mr-' 
ing joyous life, with the gleams of its vast sky, the sweet, 
keen breath of its heaths and pastures ; but for the most part 
shadowed, melancholy, an austere nurse of the striving spirit 
of man, with menace in its mountain-rack, in the rushi 
voice of its winds and torrents. 

Here, in a small, plain cottage, stone-walled, stone-rooft 
looking over the wide and deep hollow of a stream- 
in the local language— which at this point makes a sounding 
cataract on its course from the great moor above, lived Ji 
Otway, It had been his home for some ten years. He lived 
as a man of small but sufficient means, amid very 
household furniture, and with no sort of social pretei 
With him dwelt his wife, and one maid-servant. 

On an evening of midsummer, still and sunny, the old 
' ~ p among his books ; open before bim ihe great poena] 



^des^ 

idiae^V 
ns[Mr-' ■ 

t part 
spirit 
ushingj 

iding 
lived 

'4 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 65 

Dante. His much-lined face, austere in habitual expression, 
yet with infinite possibilities of radiance in the dark eyes, of 
tenderness on the mobile lips, was crowned with hair which 
had turned iron-grey but remained wonderfully thick and 
strong ; the moustache and heard, only a slight growth, were 
perfectly white. He had once been of more than average 
stature ; now his bent shoulders and meagre limbs gave him 
an appearance of shortness, whilst he suffered on the score 
of dignity by an excessive disregard of his clothing. He sat 
in a round-backed wooden chair at an ordinary table, on 
which were several volumes ranked on end, a large blotter, 
and an inkstand. The room was exclusively his, two book- 
cases and a few portraits on the walls being almost the only 
other furniture; but at this moment it was shared by Mrs. 
Otway, who, having some sort of woman's work on her lap, 
sat using her fingers and her tongue with steady diligence, 
She looked about forty, had a colourless but healthy face, 
not remarkable for charm, and was dressed as a sober, aelf- 
respecting gentlewoman. In her accents sounded nothing 
harsh, nothing vehement; she talked quietly, without varied 
inflections, as if thoughtfully expounding an agreeable theme ; 
such talk might well have inclined a. disinterested hearer to 
somnolence. But her husband's visage, and his movements, 
betokened no such peaceful tendency ; every moment he grew 
more fidgety, betrayed a stronger irritation. 

" I suppose," Mrs, Otway was saying, " there are persons 
who live without any religious conscience. It seems very 
strange ; one would think that no soul could be at rest in 
utter disregard of its Maker, in complete neglect of the 
plainest duties of a creature endowed with human intelligence 
— which means, of course, power to perceive spiritual truths. 
Vet such persons seem capable of going through a long life 
without once feeling the impulse to worship, to render thanks 
and praise to the Supreme Being. I suppose they very early 
deaden their spiritual faculties ; perhaps by loose habits of 
life, or by the indulgence of excessive self-esteem, or by " — 
Jerome made a quick gesture with his hands, as if defending 
' lelf against a blow; then he turned to his wife, and 
rded her fixedly. 

"^'1 it take you much longer," he asked, with obvious 
: for self-command, but speaking courteoualY> "to 
t this theroe?" 




I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



" It annoys you ? " said the lady, very coldly, straighti 
herself to an offended attitude. 

" I confess it does. Or rather, it worries me. If I 
beg "— 

" I understood you to invite me to your room." 

" I did. And the fact of my having done so ought, I shouldil 
think, to have withheld you from assailing me with your 
tedium." 

"Thank you," said Mrs. Otway, as she rose to her 
height, " I will leave you to your own tedium, which must 
acrid enough, I imagine, to judge from the face you general 
wear." 

And she haughtily withdrew. 

A scene of this kind — never more violent, always checl 
at the right moment — occurred between them about once 
month. During the rest of their time they lived without 
mutual aggression; seldom conversing, but maintaining the 
externals of ordinary domestic intercourse. Nor was either of 
them acutely unhappy, llie old man {Jerome Otway was 
sixty-five, but might have been taken for seventy) did not, as 
a rule, wear a sour countenance ; he seldom smiled, but his 
grave air had no cast of gloominess ; it was profoundly medi- 
tative, tending often to the rapture of high vision. The lady_ 
had her own sufScient pursuits, chief among them a rij '" 
attention to matters ecclesiasticfd, local and national ~" 
her husband held notably aloof from such interests was the 
subject of Mrs, Otway's avowed grief, and her peculiar method of 
assailing his position brought about the periodical disturbance 
which seemed on the whole an agreeable feature of her 
existence. 

He lived much in the past, broodmg upon his yeat^ 
activity as author, journalist, lecturer, conspiratoi 
1846 and 1870. He talked in his long days of silence 
men whose names are written in history, men whom he 
familiarly known, with whom he had struggled and hoped ft 
the Better Time. Mazzini and Herzen, Kossuth and Led 
Rollin, Bakounine, Louis Blanc, and a crowd of less emin< 
fighters in the everlasting war of human emancipation. ~ 
war that aims at Peace: the strife that assails tyranny, 
militarism, and international hatred. Beginning with CI 
(and narrowly escaping the fierce penalties suBfered by $01 
of his comrades), he grew to wider activities, and for a moi 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 67 

seemed likely to achieve a bright position among the liberators 
of mankind; but Jerome Otway had more zeal than power, 
and such powers as he commanded were scattered o\er too 
wide a field of enthusiastic endeavour. He succeeded neither 
as man of thought nor as man of action. His verses were not 
quite poetry ; his prose was not quite literature ; personally, he 
interested and exalted, but without inspiring confidence such 
as is given to the born leader. And in this year r886, when 
two or three letters on the Irish Question appeared over his 
signature, few readers attached any meaning to the name. 
Jerome Otway had fought his fight, and was forgotten. 

He married, for the first time, at onc-and-twenty, his choice 
being the daughter of an impoverished " county " family, a girl 
neither handsome nor sweet-natured, but, as it seemed, much 
in sympathy with his humanitarian views. Properly speaking, 
be did not choose her ; the men who choose, who deliberately 
select, a wife are very few, and Jerome Otway could never 
have been one of them. He was ardent and impulsive ; 
marriage becoming a necessity, he clutched at the first chance 
which in any way addressed his imagination j and the result 
■was calamitous. In a year or two his wife repented the 
thoughtlessness with which she had sacrificed the possibilities 
of her birth and breeding for marriage with a man of no 
wealth. Narrow of soul, with a certain ftothy intelligence, 
she quickly outgrew the mood of social rebelfion which had 
originated in personal discontent, and thenceforward she had 
nothing but angry scorn for the husband who allowed her to 
live in poverty. Two sons were bom to them ; the elder 
named Daniel (after O'Connell), the second called Alexander 
(after the Russian Herzen). For twelve years they lived in 
suppressed or flagrant hostility ; then Mrs. Otway died of 
cholera. To add to the bitterness of her fate, she had just 
received, from one of her "county" relatives, a legacy of a 
couple of thousand pounds. 

This money, which became his own, Otway invested in a 
newspaper then being started by certain of his friends; a 
paper, as it seemed, httle likely to have commercial success, 
but which, after many changes of editorship, ultimately 
became an established organ of Liberalism, The agitator 
retained an interest in this venture, and the small income it 
still continued to yield him was more than enough for his 
personal needs; it enabled him to set a little aside, year after 



r 
I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



year, thus forming a fund which, latterly, he always thought 
as destined to benefit his youngest son — the child of his secoi 
marriage. 

For he did not long remain solitary, and his next adventuri 
was somewhat in keeping with the character he had earned in 
public estimate. Living for a time in Switzerland, he there 
met with a young Englishwoman, married, but parted from 
her husband, who was maintaining herself at Geneva as a 
teacher of languages ; Jerome was drawn to her, wooed her, 
and won her love. The husband, a Catholic, refused her 
legal release, but the irregular union was a true marriage. It 
had lasted for about four years when their only child was 
born. In another twelvemonth, Jerome was again a widower. 
A small sum of money which had belonged to the dead 
woman, Jerome, at her wish, put out at interest for their boy, 
if he should attain manhood. The child's name was Piers ; 
for Jerome happened at thai time to be studying old 
Langland's " Vision," with delight in the brave singer, who so 
long ago cried for social justice — one of the few in Christendom 
who held by the spirit of Christ. 

He was now forty-five years old ; he mourned the loss of 
his comrade, a gentle, loving woman, whom, though she 
seldom understood bis views of life, his moods and his aims, 
he had held in affection and esteem. For eight years he went 
his way alone; then, chancing to be at a seaside place in 
the north of England, he made the acquaintance of a mother 
and daughter who kept a circulating library, and in less than 
six months the daughter became Mrs, Otway. Aged not quite 
thirty, tall, graceful, with a long, pale face, distinguished by 
its air of meditative refinement, this lady probably never made 
quite clear to herself her motives in accepting the wooer of 
fifty-three, whose life had passed in labours and experiences 
with which she could fee! nothing like true sympathy. Perhaps 
it was that she had never before received offer of marri^e ; 
possibly Jerome's eloquent dark eyes, of which the gleam was 
not yet dulled, seconded the emotional language of his lips. 
and stirred her for the moment to genuine feeling. For 
few months they seemed tolerably mated, then the inevital 
divergence began to show itself. Jerome withdrew into ' 
reveries, became taciturn, absorbed himself at length in 
study of Dante; Mrs. Otway, resenting this, desertion, 
cria'cal, condemnaioiy, and, as if to atone for ber union 



1 

°P 



r 

■" a man wh 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 69 



a man who stood outside all the creeds, developed her mild , 
orthodoxy into a peculiarly virulent form of Anglican puritanism. 
The only thing that kept them together was their common 
indination for a retired existence, and their love of the 
northern moorland. 

Looking back upon his marriages, the old man wondered j, 
sadly. Why had he not — he who worshipped the idea of 
womanhood — sought patiently for his perfect wife? Some- 
where in the world he would have found her, could he but 
have subdued himself to the high seriousness of the quest. 
In a youthful poem, he had sung of Love as " the crown of ' 
life," believing it fervently; he believed it now with a fervour 
more intense, because more spiritual. That crown he had 
missed, even as did the multitude of mankind. Only to the 
elect is it granted — the few chosen, where all are called. To 
some it falls as if by the pure grace of Heaven, meeting them 
as they walk in the common way. Some, the fewest, attain 
it by merit of patient hope, climbing resolute until, on the 
heights of noble life, a face shines before them, the face of 
one who murmurs " Guardami ben I " 

He thought much, too, about his offspring. The two 
children of his first marriage he had educated on the approved 
English model, making them "gentlemen." Partly because 
he knew not well how else to train them, for Jerome was far 
too weak on the practical side to have shaped a working 
system of his own — a system he durst rely upon j and partly, 
too, because they seemed to him to inherit many characteristics 
from their mother, and so to be naturally fitted for some 
conventional upper-class career. The result was grievous 
failure. In the case of Piers, he decided to disregard the 
boy's seeming qualifications, and, after having him schooled 
abroad for the sake of modern languages, to put him early 
into commerce. . If Piers were marked out for better things, 
this discipline could do him no harm, And to all appearances, 
the course had been a wise one. Piers had as yet given no 
cause for complaint. In wearying of trade, in aiming at 
something more liberal, he claimed no more than his rights. 
With silent satisfaction, Jerome watched the boy's endeavours, 
his heart warming when lie received one of those well-worded 
and dutiful, yet by no means commonplace lettei^, which 
came from Geneva and from London. On Piei* W^NsS-^feR. 
hope of bis latter day; and it gladdened torn ^Q ftivsit <mX 



^B the 

^M whi 

^ the 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



II 

i 



this, his only promising child, was the offspring of the uni< 
which he could recall with tenderness. 

When Mrs. Otway had withdrawn with her sour d^nil 
the old man sighed and lost himself in melancholy musii 
The house was, as usual, very still, and from without the 01 
sound was that of the beck, leaping down over its stony ' 
Jerome loved this sound. It tuned his thoughts; it sai 
him from many a fit of ill-humour. It harmonised with the 
melody of Dante's verses, fit accompaniment to many 
passage of profound feeling, of noble imagery. Even now he 
had been brooding the anguish of Maestro Adamo who heart 
for ever 



4nd the music of the Tuscan fountains blended with the voi 
of this moorland stream. 

There was a knock at the door ; the maid-servant handf ^ 
him a letter ; it came from Piers. The father read it, aniC 
after a few lines, with grave visage. Piers began by saying 
that, a day or two ago, he had all but resolved to run down 
to Hawes, for he had something very serious to speak about, 
on the whole, it seemed better to make the coramunicatii 
in writing. 

" 1 have abandoned the examination, and all thought 
the Civil Service. If I invented reasons for this, you woi 
not believe them, and you would think ill of me. The 
way is to teil you the plain truth, and run the risk of bi 
thought a simpleton, or something worse. I have been 
great trouble, have gone through a bad lime. Some weeks 
ago there came to stay here a girl of eighteen or nineteen, 
the daughter of Dr. Lowndes Derwent (whose name perhaps 
you know), She is very beautiful, and I was unlucky enough— 

lught to use such a phrase— to fall in love with her. 
won't try to explain what this meant to me ; you wouldi 
have patience to read it; but it stopped my studies, utii 
overthrew my work. I was all but ill; I suffered honil 
It was my first such experience ; I hope it may be the last 
in that form. Indeed, I believe it will, for I can't im: 
that I shall ever feel towards anyone else in the same 
and — you will smile, no doubt — I have a conviction that Ii 
Derwent will remain my ideal as \ong as I \i\e. 



1 



I "EnougV 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



" Enough of that, It being quite clear to me that I simply 
could not go in for the examination, I hit upon another 
scheme; one, it seemed to me, which might not altogether 
displease you. I went to see Mr. Tadworth, and told him 
ihat I had decided to go back into business ; could he, I 
asked, think of giving me a place in their office at Odessa? 
If necessary, I would work without salary till I had thoroughly 
leamt Russian, and could substantially serve them. Well, 
Mr. Tadworth was very kind, and, after a little questioning, 
promised to send me out to Odessa in some capacity or 
other, still to be determined. I am to go in about ten 
days. 

"This, father, is my final decision. I shall give myself to 
the business, heartily and energetically. I think there is no 
harm in telling you that I hope to make money. If I do so, 
it will be done, I think, honourably, as the result of hard work. 
I had better not see you; I should be ashamed. But I'beg 
you will write to me soon. I hope I shall not have overtried 
your patience. Bear with me, if you can, and give me the 
encouragement I value." 

Jerome pondered long. He looked anything but displeased : 
there was tenderness in his smile, and sympathy, something 
too of pride. Very much against his usual practice, he wrote 
a reply the same day, 

" So be it, my dear lad ! I have no fault to find, no 
criticism to offer. Your letter is an honest one, and it has 
much moved me. Let me just say this : you rightly doubt 
whether you should call yourself unlucky. If, as I can 
imagine, the daughter of l3r. Derwent is a girl worth your 
homage, nothing better could have befallen you than this 
discovery of your 'ideal.' Whether you will be faithful to it, 
the gods alone know. If you can be, even for a few years of 
youth, so much the happier and nobler your lot ! 

" Work at money-making, then. And, as I catch a glimmer 
of your meaning in this resolve, I will tell you something for 
your comfort. If you hold on at commerce, and verily make 
way, and otherwise approve yourself what I think you, I 
promise that you shall not lack advancement. Plainly, I have 
a little matter of money put by, for sundry uses ; and, if the 
day comes when something of capital would stead you (after 
■ e trial, as I premise), it shall be at your disposal. 

"Write to me with a free heart, \ \ia,\e \i.\e,^ ■m.'j \"&as 



72 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

perchance I can help you to live yours better. The will, 
assuredly, is not wanting. 

" Courage, then ! Pursue your purpose — 

'Con I'animo che vince ogni battaglia, 
Se col suo grave corpo non s'accascia.' 

"And believe me that you could have no better intimate 
for leisure hours than the old Florentine, who knew so many 
things ; among them, your own particular complaint." 



CHAPTER X 

) for a long railway journey on a hot day ; a grey figure of 
lent lines, of composedly decisive movements ; a little felt 
e-fitting to the spirited head, leaving full and frank the 
nded face, with its quietly observant eyes, its lips of 
2d humour — Irene Derwent stepped from a cab at 
Station and went forward into the booking-office. From 
:-seat of the same vehicle descended a brisk, cheerful 
m, looking rather like a courier than an ordinary servant, 
d the cabman, saw to the luggage, and, at a respectful 
;, followed Miss Derwent along the platform; it was 
: Rossignol. ; 

-clad also, with air no less calm and sufficient, a \ 

an carrying newspapers in Britannic abundance moved i 

the train which was about to start. Surveying for a ] 

:, with distant curiosity, the travellers about him, his 
upon that maiden of the sunny countenance just as she 
:ering a carriage ; he stopped, insensibly drew himself 
*, subdued a smile, and advanced for recognition, 
n going to Liverpool, Miss Derwent. May I have the 
I—?" 

ou will promise not to talk politics, Mr. Jacks." 
n't promise that. I want to talk politics." 
m here to Crewe ? " 

far as Rugby, let us say. After that — morphology, or 
her of your light topics." 

smed possible that they might have the compartment 
selves, for it was mid- August, and the tumult of north- 
igration had ceased. Arnold Jacks, had he known a 
t sooner, would have settled it with the guard. He 
"orbiddingly at a man who approached; who, in his 
ired haughtily and turned away, 
beckoned to Thibaut, and from the window ^^^ VAxxv 
message for ber father, speaking in ¥iwvc:\i ', TcSofwaJ^ 

79 



74 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



happy to serve her, put a world of chivalrous respect inlo his 
" Bien, Mademoiselle ! " Arnold Jacks averted his face and 
smiled. Was she girlish enough, then, to find pleasure in 
speaking French before him ? A charming trait ! 

The train started, and Mr. Jacks began to talk. It was n 
the first time that they had merrily skirmished on political a 
other grounds ; they amused each other, and, as it seemed, ii 
a perfectly harmless way ; the English way of mirth betwM 
man and maid, candid, inallusive, without self-consciousn 
Arnold made the most of his thirty years, spoke with a toi 
something paternal. He was wholly sure of himself, knew i, 
well his own mind, his scheme of existence, that Irene's beaii^ 
and her charm were nothing more to him than an festhet: 
perception. That she should fee! an interest in him, a littl 
awe of him, was to be hoped and enjoyed : he had not the least ' 
thought of engaging deeper emotion — would, indeed, have held 
himself reprobate had such purpose entered his head. Nor is 
it natural to an Englishman of this type to imagine that girls 
may fal! in love with him. Love has such a restricted place a " ~ 
their lives, is so consistently kept out of sight in their fax '""'■ 
converse. They do not entirely believe in it ; it 
with their practical philosophy. Marrii^e — that is anoth(*l 
thing. The approaches to wedlock are a subject of honourable 
convention, not to be confused with the trivialities of romance. 

" I'm going down to Liverpool," he said presently, " to meet 
TraiTord Romaine." 

It gratified him to see the gleam in Miss Derwent's eye 
the announcement had its hoped-for effect. Trafford Romai 
the Atlas of our Colonial world; the much -debated, 
universally interesting champion of Greater British interests t^ 
She knew, of course, that Arnold Jacks was his friend ; no one 
could talk with Mr. Jacks for half an hour without learning 
that ; but the off-hand mention of their being about to meet 
this very day had an im press iveness for Irene. 

" I saw that he was coming to England." 

"From the States — yes. He has been over there on a 
holiday — merely a holiday. Of course the papers have tried 
to find a meaning in it. That kind of thing amuses him 
vastly. He says in his last letter to me " — 

Carelessly, the letter was drawn from an inner pocket. Only 
a page and a half; Arnold read it out. A bluff and rather ■ 
slangy epistolary style. H 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 75 

" May I see his hand ? " asked Irene, trying to make fun of 
her wish. 

■ He gave her the letter, and watched her amusedly as she 
gazed at the first page. On receiving it back again, he took 
his penknife, carefully cut out the great man's signature, and 
offered it for Irene's acceptance. 

"Thank you. But you know, of course, that I regard it as a 
mere curiosity." 

" Oh yes ! Why not ? So do I the theory of Evolution." 

By a leading question or two. Miss Derwent set her com- 
panion talking at large of Trafford Romaine, his views and 
policies. The greatest man in the Empire ! he declared. The 
only man, in fact, who held the true Imperial conception, and 
had genius to inspire multitudes with his own zeal. Arnold's 
fervour of admiration betrayed him into no excessive vivacity, 
no exuberance in phrase or unusual gesture such as could 
conflict with " good form " ; he talked like the typical public 
schoolboy, with a veneering of wisdom current in circles of 
higher officialdom. Enthusiasm was never the term for his 
state of mind ; instinctively he shrank from that, as a thing 
Gallic, "foreign." But the spirit of practical determination 
could go no further. He followed Trafford Romaine as at 
school he had given allegiance to his cricket captain ; impos- 
sible to detect a hint that he felt the life of peoples in any 
way more serious than the sports of his boyhood, yet equally 
impossible to perceive how he could have been more pro- 
foundly in earnest This made the attractiveness of the man ; 
he compelled confidence ; it was felt that he never exaggerated 
in the suggestion of force concealed beneath his careless, 
mirthful manner. Irene, in spite of her humorous observa- 
tion, hung upon his speech. Involuntarily, she glanced at his 
delicate complexion, at the whiteness and softness of his 
ungloved hand, and felt in a subtle way this combination of 
the physically fine vnth the morally hard, trenchant, tenacious. 
Close your eyes, and Arnold Jacks was a high-bred bull-dog 
endowed with speech ; not otherwise would a game animal of 
that species, advanced to a world -polity, utter his con- 
victions. 

" You take for granted," she remarked, " that our race is the 
finest fiiiit of civilisation." 

" Certainly. Don't you ? " 

" It's hsiywg a pretty good conceit of oui^\ves. \^ ^n^t^ 



76 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



foreigner who contests it a poor deluded creature? Takel 
best type of Frenchman, for instance. Is he necessa 
fatuous in his criticism of us ? " 

" Why, of course he is. He doesn't understand u 
doesn't understand the world. He has his place, to be sd 
but that isn't in international politics. We are the poHtf 
people ; we are the ultimate rulers. Our language " — 

" There's a quotation from Virgil " — 

" 1 know. We are very hke the Romans. But there aieti 
new races to overthrow us." 

He began to sketch the future extension of Brita 
lordship and influence. Kingdoms were overthrown withd 
joke, continents were annexed in a boyish phrase ; Armageddor 
transacted itself in sheer lightness of heart. Laughing, T ' 
waded through the blood of nations, and in the ei 
seated himself with crossed legs upon the throne of \ 
universe. 

" Po you know what it makes me wish ? " said Irene, look] 
wicked. 

"That you may live to see it?" 

" No. That someone would give us a good hcking, for ti 
■benefit of our souls." 

Having spoken it, she was ashamed, and her lip quiveredi 
little. But the train had slackened speed ; they entered f 
' station. 

" Rugby ! " she exclaimed, with relief " Have you i 
views about treatment of the phylloxera?" 

" Odd that you should mention that. Why ? " 

" Only because my father has been thinking about it : 
have a friend from Avignon staying with us^all but r 
in his vineyards." 

Jacks had again taken out his letter-case. He selectedj 
folded sheet of paper, and showed what looked like a f 
blade of grass. The wheat, he said, on certain farms i 
Company's territory had begun to suffer from a stra 
disease; here was an example of the parasite - eaten grortl 
no one yet had recognised the disease or discovered a 
for it. 

" Let my father have it," said Irene. " He is interestej 
in all that kind of thing." 

"Really ? Seriously ? " 

"Quite seriously. He would mut;\i.V\ke lo !.ee 'vJ' 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 77 

"Then I will either call on him, or write to him, when 1 
gel back." 

Miss Derwent had not yet spoken of her destination. She 
mentioned, now, that she was going to spend a week or two 
with relations at a country place in Cheshire. She must 
ciiange trains at Crewe. This gave a lighter turn to the con- 
versation. Arnold Jacks launched into frank gaiety, and 
Irene met him with spirit. Not a little remarkable was the 
absence of the note of sex from their merry gossip in the 
narrow seclusion of a little railway compartment. Irene was 
as safe with this world-conquering yotmg man as with her own 
brother; would have been so, probably, on a desert island. 
They were not man and woman, but English gentleman and 
lady, and, from one point of view, very brilliant specimens 
of their kind. 

At Crewe both alighted, Arnold to stretch his legs for a 
moment 

" By the bye," he said, as Miss Derwent, having seen to her 
Itiggage, was bidding him farewell, "I'm sorry to hear that 
young Otway has been very ill." 

" 111 ? — I had no knowledge of it.— In Russia ? " 

"Yes, My father was speaking of it yesterday. He had 
hfjard it from his friend, old Mr. Otway. A fever of some 
..ind. He's all right again, I believe." 

■'We have heard nothing of it. — There's your whistle, 
(Jood-bye ! " 

Jacks leapt into his train, waved a hand from the window, 
and was whirled away. 

For the rest of her journey, Irene seemed occupied with 
an alternation of grave and amusing thoughts. At moments 
:ie looked seriously troubled. This passed, and the arrival 
■ lund her bright as ever; the pink of modem maidenhood, 
irmcy free. 

The relatives she was visiting were two elderly ladies, 
cousins of her mother; representatives of a family native 
to this locality for hundreds of years. One of the two had 
been married, but husband and child were long since dead ; 
the other, devoted to sisterly affection, had shared in the 
brief happiness of the wife and remained the solace of the 
widow's latter years. They were in circumstances of simple 
security, living as honoured gentlewomen, without display as 
without embarrassment; fuJfilJing cheerfu\4 ^.\iE ria\.\K^ i'laSies. 



chi^H 



78 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

of their position, but seeking no influence beyond the hoo| 
limits; their life a humanising example, a centre of chi 
and peace. The house they dwelt in came to them from t 
yeoman ancestors of long ago ; it was held on a lease of S 
thousand years from near the end of the sixteenth century, 
"at a quitrent of one shilling," and certain pieces of furniture 
still in use were contemporary with the beginning of the tenure. 
No corner of England more safely rural ; beyond sound of 
railway whistle, bosomed in great old elms, amid wide 
meadows and generous tillage ; sloping westward to the river 
Dee, and from its soft green hills descrying the mountains of 
Wales. 

Here in the old churchyard lay Irene's mother. She died 
in London, but Dr. Derwent wished her to rest by the home 
of her childhood, where Irene, too, as a little maid, had spent 
many a summer holiday. Over the grave stood a simple slab 
of marble, white as the soul of her it commemorated, graven 
thereon a name, parent^e, dates of birth and death^ — no 
more. Irene's father cared not to tell the world how that 
bereavement left him. 

Round about were many kindred tombs, the most notici 
able that of Mrs. Derwent's grandfather, a ripe old schola 
who rested from his mellow meditations just before 
century began. 

"GULIELMI W 

Fii, docti, integri, 
Reliquiae seu potius eiuvire." 

It was the first Latin Irene learnt, and its quaint phra 
to this day influenced her thoughts of mortality. Standing t 
her mother's grave, she often repeated to herself " seu poiiu 
exuviK," and wondered whether her father's faith in science 
excluded the hope of that old-world reasoning. She wou!d 
not have dared to ask him, for all the frank tenderness of 
their companionship. On that subject Dr. Derwent had no 
word Co say, no hint to let fall. She knew only that, in speak- 
ing of her they had lost, his voice would still falter ; she knew 
that he always came into this churchyard alone, and was silent, 
troubled, for hours after the visit. Instinctively, too, she 
understood that, though her father might almost be called 
a young man, and had abounding vitality, no second vVl ~ 
would ever obscure to him ihal sacced mtmoiv, '' 



d viEm 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 79 

of the many grounds she had for admiring as much as she 
loved him. His ioyahy stirired her heart, coloured her view 
of life. 

The ladies had some little apprehension that their young 
relative, fresh from contact with a many-sided world, might 
feel a dulness in their life and their interests ; but nothing of 
the sort entered Irene's mind. She was intelligent enough to 
.^['predate the superiority of these quiet sisters to all but the 

;. ry best of the acquaintances she had made in London or 
I .road, and modest enough to see in their entire refinement 
d correction of the excessive sans-giiie to which society tempted 
her. They were behind the times only in the sense of escap- 
ing, by seclusion, those modem tendencies which vulgarise. 
An exceUent library of their own supplied them with . the 
essentials of culture, and one or two periodicals kept them 
acquainted with all that was worth knowing in the acrivity of 
the day. They belonged to the very small class of persons 
who still read, who have mind and leisure to find companion- 
ship in books. Their knowledge of languages passed the 
common ; in earlier years they had travelled, and their reminis- 
cences fostered the liberality which was the natural tone of 
their minds. To converse familiarly with them was to discover 
their grasp of historical principles, their insight into philosophic 
systems, their large apprehension of world-problems. At the 
same time, they nurtured jealously their intellectual preferences, 
■:!;frering on such points from each other as they did from the 

imimon world. One of them would betray an intimate know- 
■ dge of some French or Italian poet scarce known by name to 

rdinary educated people; something in him had appealed 

I her mind at a certain time, and her memory held him in 
..-.ititude. The other would be found to have informed herself 

.liaustively concerning the history of some neglected people, 

ar to her for some subtle reason of affinity or association. 
':i!t in their table-talk appeared no pedantry; things merely 

J man were as interesting to them as to the babbler of any 
. iwing-Toom, and their inexhaustible kindliness sweetened 
t.eiy word they spoke. 

Nothing more salutary for Irene Derwent than this sojourn 
with persons whom she in every way respected, — with whom 
there was not the least temptation to exhibit her mere dexteri- 
lies. In London, during this past season, she had sometimes 
talked as a yovng, ckver, and admired g\t\ vs piowt \.q &ci-. 



m 



So THE CROWN OF LIFE 

always to the mockery of her sager self when lookbg b 
on such easy triumphs. How very easy it was to shim 
London drawing-rooms, no one knew better. Here in 
country stillness, in this beautiful old house sacred to since 
of heart and mind, to aim at "smartness" would indeed t 
been to condemn oneself. Instead of phrasing, she was t 
tent, as became her years, to listen; she enjoyed the fee 
of natural youthfulness, of spontaneity without misgiving. ' 
things of life and intellect appeared in their true proportio 
she saw the virtue of repose. 

When she had been here a day or two, the conversal 
chanced to take a turn which led to her showing the autogr 
of Trafford Romaine'; she said merely that a friend 1 
given it to her, 

" An interesting man, I should think," remarked the el 
of the two sisters, without emphasis. 

" An Englishman of a new type, wouldn't you say ? " 
from the other. 

" So far as I understand him. Or perhaps of an old t 
under new conditions," 

Irene, paying close attention, was not sure that she un« 
stood all that these words implied. 

" He is immensely admired by some of our friends," 
said with restraint. " They compare him to the fighl 
heroes of our history." 

" Indeed ? " rejoined the elder lady. " But the question 
Are those the qualities that we want nowadays? I admire 
\Valter Raleigh, but I should be sorry to see him, just as 
was, playing an active part in our time." 

"They say," ventured Irene, with a smile, "that, but 
such men, we may really become a mere nation of shopkeepei 

" Do they ? But may we not fear that their ideal is sire 
a shopkeeper ready to shoot anyone who rivals him in trai 
The finer qualities I admit; but one distrusts the obji 
they serve." 

" We are told," said Irene, " that England mus/ expand," 

"Probably. But the mere necessity of the case mi 
not become our law. It won't do for a great people to ' 
say, ' Make room for us, and we promise to set you a i 
fine example of civihsation ; refuse lo make room, and we'll* 
blow your brains out ! ' One doubts the quality of dH 
civilisation promised." ^H 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 8i 

Irene laughed, delighted with the vigour underlying the 
old lady's calm and gentle habit of speech. Yet she was not 
convinced, though she wished to be. A good many times, she 
had heard in thought the suavely virile utterances of Arnold 
Jacks ; his voice had something that pleased her, and his way 
of looking at things touched her imagination. She wished 
these ladies knew Arnold Jacks, that she might ask their 
opinion of him. 

And yet, she felt she would rather not have asked it. 




I 



"pROM this retreat, Irene wrote to her cousin 
J- Hannaford, and in the course of the letter made 
inquiry whether anything was known at Ewell about a severe 
illness that had befallen young Mr. Otway. Olga replied that 
she had heard of no such event ; that they had received 
no news at all of Mr. Otway since his leaving England. This 
did not allay an uneasiness which, in various forms, had 
troubled Irene ever since she heard that her studious acquaint- 
ance had abandoned his ambitions and gone back to 
commerce. A few weeks more elapsed, and — being now 
in Scotland — she received a confirmation of what Arnold 
Jacks had reported. Immediately on reaching Odessa, Piers 
Otway had fallen ill, and for a time was in danger. Irene 
mused. She would have preferred not to think of Otway 
at all, but often did so, and could not help it. A certalnj 
reproach of conscience connected itself with his name, 
as time went on, and it appeared that the young i 
was settled to his mercantile career in Russia, she succee 
in dismissing bim from her mind. 

For the next three years she lived with her father i 
London ; a life pretty evenly divided between studies and tl 
amusements of her world. 

Dr. Derwent pursued his quiet activity. In a certain spher. 
he had reputation ; the world at large knew little or nothing' Q 
him. All he aimed at was the diminution of human sufferiiij 
whether men thanked him for his life's labour did not see 
to him a point worth considering. He knew that only t 
scienlilic brethren could gauge the advance in knowledge, a 
consequent power over disease, due to his patient toil ; it i , 
a question of minute discoveries, of investigations uninteUigih! 
to the layman. Some of his colleagues held that he foolish" 
restricted himself in declining to experimentalise in corpore o' 
wbeaever such experiments were attended with pain ; he \ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 83 

spoken of in some quarters as a " sentimentalist," a man who 
might go far but for his "fads." One great pathologist held 
that the whole idea of pursuing science for mitigation of human 
ills was nothing but a sentimentahty and a fad. A debate 
between this personage and Dr, Derwent was brought to 
a close by the latter's inextinguishable mirth. He was, indeed, 
a man who laughed heartily, and laughter often served him 
where another would have waxed choleric. 

" Only a dog ! " he exclaimed once to Irene, apropos of this 

subject, and being in his graver mood.^" Why, what assurance 

have I that any given man is of more importance to the world 

Ihan any given dog ? How can I know what is important and 

what is not, when it comes to the ultimate mystery of life ? 

Create me a dog — just a poor little mongrei puppy — and 

you shall torture him ; then, and not till then. And in 

that event I reserve my opinion of the" — He checked 

inimself on the point of a remark which seemed of too wide 

Vnearing for the girl's ears. But Irene supplied the hiatus for 

Inerself, as she was beginning to do pretty often when listening 

to her father. 

Dr. Derwent was in a sense a self-made man ; in youth he 
Snad gone through a hard struggle, and but for his academic 
^successes he could not have completed the course of medical 
t^raining. Twenty years of very successful practice had made 
^nim independent, and a mechanical invention — which he had 
;^atented — an ingenuity of which he thought nothing till some 
^■riend insisted on its value — raised his independence to moderate 
"^cealth. For his children's sake he was glad of this comfort ; 
like every educated man who has known poverty at the outset 
^jf life, he feared it more than he cared to say. J 

His wife had brought him nothing — save her beauty and her I 
vioble heart. She wedded him when it was still doubtful I 
"whether he would hold his own in the fierce fight for a living ; I 
she died before the days of his victory. Now and then, a I 
friend who heard him speak of his wife's family smiled with the I 
thought that he only just escaped being something of a snob. I 
^■flA^bidi merely signified that a man of science attached I 
^Hfelue to descent. Dr. Derwent knew the properties of I 
^^Kcb blood as ran in his wife's veins, and it rejoiced I 
^^^bl to mark the characteristics which Irene inherited from I 
^^E' naother. I 

^^■Hf ofien suffered anxiety on beha\[ oi 'Wk 5\a'i,CT^ VvsaJ 




THE CROWN OF LIFE 



Hatinaford, whom he knew to be pinched in circumstances, 
but whom it was impossible to help. Lee Hannaford he 
disliked and distrusted ; the men were poles apart in character 
and purpose. The family had now left Ewelt, and lived 
in a poor house in London. Olga was trying to earn money 
by her drawing, not, it seemed, with much success. Hannaford 
was always said to be on the point of selling some explosive 
invention to the British Government, whence would result 
a fortune ; but the Government had not yet come to terms, 

" What a shame it is," quoth Dr. Derwent, " that an honest 
man who facilitates murder on so great a scale should be kept 
waiting for his reward ! " 

Hannaford pursued his slight acquaintance with Arnold Jacia 
who, in ignorance of any relationship, once spoke of him t 
Miss Derwent. 

" An ingenious fellow. 1 should like to make some i 
him, but 1 don't quite know how," 

" I am sorry to say he belongs by marriage to our family^a 
replied Irene. 

" Indeed ? Why sorry ? " 

"I detest his character. He is neither a gentleman, 
anything else that one can respect." 

It closed a conversation in which they had differed more 
sharply than usual, with — on Irene's part — something less 
than the wonted gaiety of humour. They did not see each 
other very often, but always seemed glad to meet, and always 
talked in a tone of peculiar intimacy, as if conscious of mutual 
understanding. Yet no two acquaintances could have been 
in greater doubt as to each other's mind and character. 
Irene was often mentally occupied with Mr. Jacks, and 
one of the questions she found most uncertain was whether he 
in turn ever thought of her with like interest. Now she 
seemed to have proof that he sought an opportunity of 
meeting ; now, again, he appeared to have forgotten her 
existence. He interested her in his personality, he interested 
her in his work. She would have liked to speak of him with 
her father ; but Dr. Derwent never broached the subject, and 
she could not herself lead up to it. Whenever she saw his 
name in the paper — where it often stood in reports of public 
festivities or in items of social news^her eye dwelt upon 
it, and het &Dcy was stirred. Curiosity, perhaps, had t 
greater part in her feeling. Arnold Jacks seemed to live! 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 85 

" largely," in contact with such great affairs and such eminent 
people. One day, at length, a little paragraph in an evening 
journal announced that he was engaged to be married, and to 
a lady much in the light, the widowed daughter of a Conser- 
vative statesman. It was only an hour or two after reading 
this news that Irene met him at dinner, and spoke with him of 
Hannaford ; neither to Arnold himself nor to anyone else did 
she allude to the rumoured engagement ; but that night she 
was not herself. 

About lunch-time on the next day she received a note 
from Jacks. His attention had been drawn — he wrote — to 
an absurd bit of gossip connecting his name with that of a 
lady whose friend he was and absolutely nothing more. 
Would Miss Derwent, if occasion arose, do him the kindness 
to contradict this story in her circle? He would be greatly 
obliged to her. 

Irene was something more than surprised. It struck her 
as odd that Arnold Jacks should request her services in such 
a matter as this. In an obscure way she half resented the 
brief, off-hand missive. And she paid no further attention 
to it. 

A month later,, she, her father and brother, were on their 
way to Switzerland. Stepping into the boat at Dover, she 
saw in front of her Arnold Jacks. It was a perfectly smooth 
passage, and they talked all the way; for part of the time, 
alone. 

"I think," said Arnold, at the first opportunity, looking 
her in the face, "you never replied to a letter of mine last 
month about a certain private affair?" 

»" A letter? Oh yes. I didn't think it required an answer." 
" Don't you generally answer letters from your fiiends?" 
Irene, in turn, gave him a steady look. 
" Generally, yes. But not when I have the choice between 
silence and being disagreeable." 

"You were both silent and disagreeable," said Arnold, 
smiling. " Do you mind being disagreeable again, and 
telling me what your answer would have been ? " 

"Simply that I never, if I can help it, talk about weddings 
and rumours of weddings, and that I couldn't make an 
exception in your case," 

Arnold laughed in the old way. 
" "A most original rule. Miss Derwent, and admirable, If 



\ 



^H^B6 THE CROWN OF LIFE ^H 

all kept to it 1 shouldn't have been annoyed by that silly | 
chatter. It occurs to mc that I perhaps ought not to have 
sent you that note. I did it in a moment of irritation — 

■ wanting to have the stupid thing contradicted right and lef^^^ 
as fast as possible. I won't do it again." .^^H 

They were on excellent terms once more. Irene felt ^^H 
singular pleasure in his having apologised ; it was one of th^^| 



I 



very rare occasions of his yielding to her on any point 
whatever. Never had she felt so kindly disposed to him. 

Arnold was going to Paris, and on business; he hinted 
at something pending between his Company and a French 
Syndicate. 

"You are a sort of informal diplomatist," said Irene, hi 
interest keen. 

"Now and then, yes. And" — he added with the 
ness which was one of his more amiable points — " I rathi 
like it." 

"One sees that you do. Better, I suppose, 
thought of going into Parliament." 

" That may come some day," he answered, glancing at 
gull that hovered above the ship. "Not whilst my fatl 
sits there." 

" You would be on different sides, I suppose.' 

Arnold smiled, and went on to say that he was uneasy 
about his father's health. John Jacks had fallen of late into 
a habit of worry about things great and small, as though age 
were suddenly telling upon him. He fretted over public 
affairs ; he suffered from the death of old friends, especially 
that of John Bright, whom he had held in affectionate regard 
for a lifetime. Irene was glad to hear this expression 
anxiety. For it sometimes seemed to her that Arnold Jat 
had little if any domestic feeling. 

She wished they could have travelled further 
Their talks were always brokenofftoosoon, just when she began 
to get a glimpse of characteristics still unknown to her. On 
the journey she thought constantly of him ; not with any sort 
of tender emotion, but with much curiosity. It would have 
gratified her to know what degree of truth there was in that 
rumour of his engagement a month ago ; some, undoubtedly, 
for she had noticed a peculiar smile on the faces of persons 



:e regard 
ission of^J 
lid Jackal 

together^l 



^^_ who alluded to it, His apparent coldness towards womea ii^^ 
^^K genera) might be natural, or might conceal mysteries. 9^H 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 87 

difficult a man to know ! And so impossible to decide 
"whether he was really worth knowing 1 

Among intimates of her own sex Irene had a reputation for 
certain chaste severity becoming at moments all but 
prudery. It did not altogether harmonise with the lone* 
of highly taught young women who rather prided themselves 

. freedom of thought, and to some extent of uiteran 
Singular in one so far from cold-blooded, so abounding in 
vitality . Towards men, her attitude seemed purely 
tellectual ; no one had ever so much as suspected a warmer 
interest. A hint of things forbidden with regard to any 
male acquaintance caused her to turn away, silent, austere. 
That such things not seldom came to her hearing was a 
motive of troubled reflection, common enough in all 
intelligent girls who live in touch with the wider world. 
Men puzzled her, and Irene did not like to be puzzled. As 
&ee from unwholesome inquisitiveness as a girl can possibly 
be, she often wished to know, once for all, whatever was to be 
learnt about the concealed life of men ; to know it and to 
liave done with it ; to settle her mind on that point, as 
any other that affected the life of a reasonable being. ' 
■he shrank from all such inquiry, with a sense of womanly 
pride, doing her best to believe that there was no concealment 
in the case of any man with whom she could have friendly 
relations. She scorned the female cynic; she disliked the 
.carelessly hberal in mora! judgment. Profoundly mysterious 
to her was everything covered by the word "passion" — a word 
she detested. 

Her way of seeing life on the amusing side aided, of course, 
her maidenly severity against trouble of sense and sentiment. 
■This she had from her father, a man of quips and jokes on the 
surface of his seriousness, As she grew older, it threatened a 
decline of intimacy between her and her cousin Olga, who, 
I never naturally buoyant, was becoming so cheerless, so 
turbid of temper, that Irene found it difficult to talk with 
her for long together. Domestic miseries might greatly 
■account for the girl's mood, but Irene had insight enough 
to perceive that this was not all. And she felt uncomfortably 
'helpless, To jest seemed unfeeling; sympathy of 
KDtimeDtal sort she could not give. She feared that Olga 
iras begiiming 10 shrink from her. 

Since the Hannafords' removal to Londo'n, 'Ci\e'5 V\?i T.ti\ 



88 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

been able to see much of each other. Irene understood 
that she was not very welcome in the little house at 
mmersmilh, even before her aunt wrote to ask her not 
to come. Lee Hannaford's aloofness from his wife's relatives 
had turned to hostility ; he spoke of Ihem with increasing 
bitterness, threw contempt on Dr. Derwent's scientific work, 
and condemned Irene as a butterfly of fashion, Olga ceased 
to visit the house in Bryanston Square, and the cousins only 
corresponded. It was Dr. Derwent's opinion that Hannaford 
could not be quite sane; he was much troubled on his 
sister's account, and had often pondered extreme measures 
for her rescue from an intolerable position. 

At length there came to pass the event to which Mrs. 
Hannaford had looked as her only hope. The widowed sister 
in America died, and, out of her abundance, her children all 
provided for, left to the unhappy wife in England a substantial 
bequest. News of this came first to Dr. Derwent, who was 
appointed trustee. 

But before he had time to communicate with Mrs. 
Hannaford, a letter from her occasioned him new anxiety. 
His sister wrote that Olga was bent on making a most 
undesirable marriage, having fallen in love with a penniless 
nondescript who called himself an artist ; a man given, it 
was suspected, to drink, and without any decent connection 
that one could hear of. A wretched, squalid affair I Would 
the Doctor come at once and see 0!ga ? Her father was away, 
as usual ; of course the girl would not be influenced by him, 
in any case ; she was altogether in a strange, wild, ' 
state, and one could not be sure how soon the marriage might 
come about 

With wrinkled brows, the vexed pathologist set forth for 
k Hammersmith, 



\ 




CHAPTER XII 

A SEMI-DETACHED dwelling in a part of Hammersmith 
just being invaded by the social class below that for 
whidi it was built ; where, in consequence, rents had slightly 
fallen, and notices of " apartments " were beginning to rise ; 
where itinerant vendors, finding a new market, strained their 
Voices with special discord ; where hired pianos vied with each 
other through parti-walls; where the earth was always very 
plasty or very muddy, and the sky above in all seasons had a 
iscouraging hue. The house itself furnished half-heartedly, 
if it was felt to be a mere encampment ; no comfort in any 
olnamber, no air of home. Hannaford had not cared to dis- 
^^:^bute his mementoes of battle and death in the room called 
.s own ; they remained in packing-cases. Each member of 
le family, uiibappy trio, knew that their state was transitional, 

waited rather than lived. 
With the surprise of a woman long bitter against destiny, 
[rs. Hannaford learnt that something had happened, and that 
was a piece of good, not ill, fortune. When her brother 
the house (having waited two hours in vain for Olga's 
^^tum), she made a change of garb, arranged her hair with 
Something of the old grace, and moved restlessly from room 
"^^ room. A light had touched her countenance, dispelling 
V^ears of premature age ; she was still a handsome woman ; 
^he could still find in her heart the courage for a strong 
decision. 

There was no maid — Mrs. Hannaford herself laid upon the 
^ble what was to serve for an evening meal ; and she had just 
done so when her . daughter came in. Olga had changed 
considerably in the past three years; at one-and-twenty she 
vrould have passed for several years older; her complexion 
'was fatigued, her mouth had a nervous mobility which told of 
suppressed suffering, her movements were impatient^ irritable* 
Sut at this moment she did not wear a look of \\tv\vd.^^Ycvt^^\ 

80 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 

3n all 

tood, 
lazed 

dtud 



there was a glow in her fine eyes, a tremor of resolve on all 
her features. On entering the room where her mother stood, 
she at once noticed a change. Their looks met : they gazed 
excitedly at each other. 

" What is it ? Why have you dressed ? " 

" Because I am a free woman. My sister is dead, and h 
left me a lot of money." 

They rushed into each other's arms ; they caressed with 
tears and sobs ; it was minutes before they could utter more 
than broken phrases and exclamations. 

"What shall you do?" the girl asked at length, holding her 
mother's hand against her heart. Of late there had been 
unwonted conflict between them, and in the reaction of joy 
they became all tenderness, 

" What I ought to have done long ago — go and live away " — 

" Will it be possible, dear ? " 

" It shall be 1 " exclaimed the mother vehemently. " I am not 
a slave — I am not a wife ! I ought to have had courage to go 
away years since. It was wrong, wrong to live as I have don^rj 
— The money is my own, and 1 will be free. He shall havejJ 
third of it every year, if he leaves me free. One-third is yomJB 
one mine." 

" No, no !" said Oiga, drawing back. " For me, none of it ! " 

" Yes, you will live with me — you will, Olga ! This makes 
everything different. You will see that you cannot do what 
you thought of! Don't speak of it now ; — think — wait " — 

The girl moved apart. Her face lost its brightnt 
hardened in passionate determination, 

" I can't begin al! that again," she said, with an acceni 
weariness. 

" No ! I won't speak of it now, Olga. But will you d 
thing for me? Will you put it off for a short time? 1 
you what I have planned ; your uncle and I talked it all o 
I must leave this house before he comes back, to-nioi| 
morning. I can't go to your uncle's house, as he asked Q 
you see why it is better not, don't you? The best 1 
be to go into lodgings for a time, and not to let him kn 
where I am, till I hear whether he will accept the terms I o 
Look, I have enough money for the present." She shoi 
gold that had been left with her by Dr. Derwent. 
I to go alone ? ^Vill you desert me in my struggle 
you, dear; J need your help. Oh, \i would be cru 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 91 

me just now ! Will you put it off for a few weeks, until I know 
what my life is going to be? You won't refuse me this one 
thing, 0!ga, after all we have gone through together?" 

" For a few weeks : of course I will do that," replied the 
girl, still in an altitude of resistance. "But you mustn't 
deceive yourself, mother. My mind is made up ; fwthing will 
change it. Money is nothing to me; we shall be able to 
live " — 

"I can count on you till the struggle is over?" 

" I won't leave you until it is settled. And perhaps there will 
be no struggle at all. I should think it will be enough for you 
to say what you have decided " — 

" Perhaps. But I can't feel sure. He has got to be such 
a tyrant, and it will enrage him — But perhaps the money — 
Yes, he will be glad of the money." 

Presently they sat down to make a pretence of eating ; it 
'.\as over in a few minutes. Mrs. Hannaford made known in 
detail what she had rapidly decided with her brother. To- 
night she would pack her clothing and Olga's; she would 
leave a letter for her husband ; and early in the morning they 
would leave London. Not for any distant hiding-place ; it was 
better to be within easy reach of Dr. Derwent, and a retreat in 
Surrey would best suit their purposes, some place where lodg- 
ings could be at once obtained. The subject of difference put 
aside, they talked again freely and affectionately of this sudden 
escape from a life which in any case Mrs. Hannaford could 
not have endured much longer. About nine o'clock, the 
quiet of the house was broken by a postman's knock ; Olga 
ran to take the letter, and exclaimed on seeing the address — 

" Why, if s from Mr. Otway, and an English stamp ! " 

Mrs. Hannaford found a note of a few lines. Piers Otway 
had reached London that morning, and would he in town for 
a day or two only, before going on into Yorkshire. Could he 
see his old friends to-morrow? He would call in the 
afternoon. 

" Better reply to-night," said Olga, " and save him the trouble 
of coming here." 

The letter in her hand, Mrs. Hannaford stood thinking, a 
half-smile about her lips. 

" Yes ; I must write," she said slowly. " But perhaps he 
could come and see us in the country. I'll tell him where we 
are going," 



92 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



They talked of possible retreats, and decided upon Epsotn, 
which was not far from their old home at Ewell ; then Mrs. 
Hannaford replied to Otway. Through the past three years 
she had often heard from him, and she knew that he was 
purposing a visit to England, but no date had been mentioned. 
After writing, she was silent, thoughtful. Olga, too, having 
been out to post the letter, sat absorbed in her own medita- 
tions. Tliey did some hasty packing before bedtime, but 
talked little. They were to rise early, and flee at once from 
the hated house, 

A sunny morning — it was July — saw them start on their 
journey, tremulous, but rejoicing. Long before midday they 
had found lodgings that suited them, and had made themselves 
at home. The sense of liberty gave everything a delightful 
aspect ; their little sitting-room was perfection ; the trees and 
fields had an ideal beauty after Hammersmith, and they 
promised themselves breezy walks on the Downs above. 
Not a word of the trouble between them. The mother 
held to a hope that the great change of circumstance woul 
insensibly turn Olga's thoughts from her reckless purpc 
and, for the moment, Olga herself seemed happy i 
forgetfulness. 

The man to whom she had plighted herself was namedH 
Kite. He did not look like a bird of prey ; his countenance^ 
his speech, were anything but sinister ; but for his untuck]^ 
position, Mrs. Hannaford would probably have rather taken ti — 
him. Olga's announcement came with startling suddenness 
For a twelvemonth she had been trying to make mtme^y 
by artistic work, and to a smalt extent had succeede(3, 
manning to sell a few drawings to weekly papers, and even to 
get a poor little commission for the illustrating of a poor little 
book. In this way she had made a few acquaintances in the 
so-called Bohemian world, but she spoke seldom of them, ami 
Mrs. Hannaford suspected no special intimacy v^th anyone 
whose name was mentioned to her. One evening (a week agui 
Olga said quietly that she was going to be married. 

Mr. Kite was summoned to Hammersmith. A lank, loosi- 
limbed, indolent-looking man of thirty or so, with a long, thin 
face, tangled hair, gentle eyes. The clothes he wore were 
decent, but suggested the idea that they had been purchased 
at second-hand; they did not fit him well; perhaps he was 
the kind of man whose cloftiea nevex do fe. Unless Mra, 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 93 

llannaford was mistaken, his breath wafted an alcoholic 
odour; but Mr. Kite had every appearance of present 
sobriety. He seemed chronically tired ; sat down with a 
little sigh of satisfaction ; stretched his legs, and let his arms 
&U at full length. To the maternal eye, a singular, proble- 
matic being, anything but likely to inspire confidence. Yet he 
talked agreeably, if oddly ; his incomplete sentences were full 
of good feeling; above all, he evidently meant to be frank, 
pul his poverty in the baldest aspect, set forth his hopes with 
cMTeme moderation. " We seem to suit each other," was his 
ciuiet remark, with a giance at Olga; and Mrs. Hannaford 
could not doubt that he meant well. But what a match ! 
Scarcely had he gone, when the mother began her dissuasions, 
and from that moment there was misery. 

For Olga, Mrs. Hannaford had always been ambitious. 
The girl was clever, warm-hearted, and in her way handsome. 
But for the disastrous father, she would have had every chance 
of marrying " well." Mrs. Hannaford was not a worldly woman, 
and all her secret inclinations were to romance, but it is hard 
for a mother to dissociate the thought of marriage from that 
of wealth and respectability. Mr. Kite, well-meaning as he 
niight be, would never do. 

To-day there was truce. They talked much of Piers Otway, 
and in the afternoon, as had been arranged by letter, both 
Went to the railway station, to meet the train by which it was 
hoped he would come.— Piers arrived. 

" How much improved 1 " was the thought of both. He was 
larger, manlier, and though still of pale complexion had no 
longer the bloodless look of years ago. Walking, he bore 
himself well ; he was self-possessed in manner, courteous in 
not quite the Enghsh way; brief, at first, in his sentences, but 
his face lit with cordiality. On the way to the ladies' lodgings, 
he stole frequent glances at one and the other; plainly he saw 
change in them, and perhaps not for the better. 

Mrs. Hannaford kept mentally comparing him with the 
scarecrow Kite. A tremor of speculation took hold upon 
h--r ; a Hush was on her cheeks, she talked nervously, laughed 
■ -eh. 

Xothing was to be said about the flight from home ; they 
.. rii at Epsom for change of air. But Mrs. Hannaford could 
not keep silence concerning her good fortune; she had revealed 
It, in a few nervous words, before they reached V\vfe Vqu?*. 



94 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



:ai4| 



"You will live in London?" asked Otway. 

"That isn't settled. It would be nice to go abroad agi 
We liked Geneva." 

" I must tell you about a Swiss friend of mine," Piers 
resumed. "A man you would like; the best, joUiest, most 
amusing fellow I ever met ; his name is Moncharmont. He 
is in business at Odessa. There was talk of his coming to 
England with me, but we put it off; another time. He's 
a man who does me good ; but for him, I shouldn't have 
held on." 

"Then you don't like it, after all?" asked Mrs, Haunaford. 

"Like it? No. But I have stuck to it — partly for very 
shame, as you know. I've stuck to it hard, and it's getting 
too late to think of anything else. I have plans ; I'll tell you." 

These plans were laid open when tea had been served in the 
little sitting-room. Piers had it in mind to start an inde- 
pendent business, together with his friend Moncharmont ; one 
of them to live in Russia, one in London. 

" My father has promised the money. He promised it three 
years ago. I might have had it when I liked ; but I should 
have been ashamed to ask till a reasonable time had gone by. 
It won't be a large capital, but Moncharmont has some, and 
putting it together, we shall manage to start, I think." 

He paused, watching Che effect of his announcement. Mrs. 
Hannaford was radiant with pleasure ; Olga looked amused. 

" Why do you laugh ? " Piers asked, turning to the girl. 

" I didn't exactly laugh. But it seems odd. I can't quite 
think of you as a merchant." 

"To tell you the truth, 1 can't quite think of myself in that 
light either. I'm only a bungler at commerce, but I've worked 
hard, and I have a certain amount of knowledge. For one 
thing, I've got hold of the language; this last year, I've 
travelled a good deal in Russia for our firm, and it often 
struck me that I might just as well be doing the business on 
my own account. I dreamt once of a partnership, with our 
people; but there's no chance of that. They're very close; 
besides, they don't make any serious account of me ; I'm 
not the type that gains English confidence. Strange that I 
get on so much better with almost any other nationality — 
with men, that is to say." 

He smiled, reddened, turned it off with a laugh. For t^^ 
moment, he was his old self, and Viis -waTvieiwv^ e^«a tei3tj| 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 95 

took such as had often been seen in them during that month 
of torture three years ago. 

"You are quite sure," said Mrs. Hannaford, "that it 
wouldn't be belter to use your capital in some other way ? " 

"Don't, don't!" Piers exclaimed, tossing his arm in ex- 
aggerated dread. " Don't set me adrift again. I've thought 
about it ; it's settled. This is the only way of making money, 
that I can see." 

"You are so set on making money?" said Olga, looking at 
him in surprise. 
^J' Savagely set on it ! " 

^CYou have really come to see that as the end of life?" 
^Hb asked, regarding him curiously. 
^pThe end? Oh, dear no! The means of life, only the 

Olga was about to put another question, but she met her 
mother's eye, and kept silence. All were silent for a space, 
aad meditative. 

They went out to walk together. Looking over the wide 
prospect from the top of the Downs, the soft English land- 
scape, homely, peaceful, Otway talked of Russia. It was a 
country, he said, which interested him more, the more he 
knew of it. He hoped to know it very well, and perhaps— 
here he grew dreamy — to impart his knowledge to others. 
Not many Englishmen mastered the language, or indeed 
knew anything of it ; that huge empire was a mere blank to 
he filled up by the imaginings of prejudice and hostility. 
Was it Dot a task worth setting before oneself, worth pursuing 
for a lifetime, that of trying lo make known to EngUsh folk 
their bugbear of the East ? 

"Then this," said Olga, "is to he the end of your life?" 

"The end? No, not even that." 

On their return, he found himself alone with Mrs. Hanna- 
ford for a few minutes. He spoke abruptly, with an effort. 

" Do you see much of the Derwents ? " 

" Not much. Our lives are so different, you know." 

"Will you tell me frankly? If I called there — when I 
come South again — should I be welcome ? " 

" Oh, why not ? " replied the lady, veiling embarrassment. 

"I see." Otway's face darkened, "You think it better I 
iiouldn'l. I understand." 

Olga reappeared, and the young man VuTtvei Xq Vw ^\^ 



^m 



96 THE CROWN OF LIFE H 

resolute cheerfulness. When at k-ngth he took leave of his 
friends, they saw nothing but good spirits and healthful 
energy. He would certainly see them again before leaving 
England, and before long would let them know all his projects 
in detail. So he went his way into the summer night, back 
to the roaring world of London ; one man in the multitude 
who knew his heart's desire, and saw all else in the light 
thereof. 

For three days, Mrs. Hannaford and her daughter lived 
"^expectant; then arrived an answer to the letter left behind 
at Hammersmith. It came through Dr. Derwent's solicitor, 
whose address Mrs. Hannaford had given for this purpose. 
A curt, dry communication, saying simply that the fugitive 
might do as she chose, and would never be interfered with. 
Parting was, under the circumstances, evidently the wise 
course ; but it must be definite, legalised ; the writer had 
no wish ever to see his wife again. As to her su^estion 
about money, in that too she would please herself; it relieved 
him to know her independent, and he was glad to be equally 

For all that, Lee Hannaford made no objection to receiving 
the portion of his wife's income which she offered. He took 
it without thanks, keeping his reflections to himself. And 
therewith was practically dissolved one, at least, of the 
innumerable mock marriages which burden the lives of man- 
kind. Mrs. Hannaford's only bitterness was that in law she 
remained wedded. It soothed her but moderately to reflect 
that she was a martyr to national morality. 

She was pressed to come and stay for a while in Bryanston 
Square, but Olga would not accept that invitation. Her 
mother's affairs being satisfactorily settled, the girl returned to 
her fixed purpose ; she would hear of no further postponement 
of her marriage. Thereupon Mrs, Hannaford took a step she 
feared to be useless, but which was the only hope remaining to 
her. She wrote to Kite; she explained to him her circum- 
stances ; she asked him whether, out of justice to Olga, who 
might repent a hasty union, he would join her (Mrs. Hannaford) 
in a decision to put off the marriage for one year. If, in a 
twelvemonth, Olga were still of the same mind, all opposition 
should he abandoned, and, more than that, pecuniary help 
would be given to the couple. She appealed to his manhoM^ 
lo his generosity, to his good sense. JB 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 97 

And, much to her surprise, the appeal was successful. Kite 
wrote the oddest letter in reply, all disjointed philosophising, 
with the gist that perhaps Mrs. Hannaford was right. No 
harm in waiting a year; perhaps much good. Life was a 
mystery ; love was uncertain. He would get on with his art, 
the only stable thing from his point of view. 

From her next meeting with her lover, Olga came back pale 
and wretched. 

" I must go and Hve alone, mother," she said. " I must go 
to London and work. This life would be impossible to me, 
now." 

She would hear of nothing else. Her marriage was post- 
poned ; they need say no more about it. If her mother would 
let her have a Httle money, till she could support herself, she 
would be grateful; but she must live apart. And so, after 
many tears, it was decided. Olga went by herself into lodgings, 
and Mrs. Hannaford accepted her brother's invitation to 
Bryanston Square. 



CHAPTER XIII 

PIERS OTWAV spent ten days in Yorkshire. His father 
was well, but more than ever silent, sunk in prophetic 
hrooding; Mrs. Otway kept the wonted tenor of her life, 
apprehensive for the purity of the Anglican Church (assailed by 
insidious papistry), and monologising at large to her inattentive 
husband upon the godlessness of his impenitent old age. 

" Piers," said the father one day, with a twinkle in his eye, 
" I find myself growing a little deaf. Your stepmother is fond 
of saying that Providence sends blessings in disguise, and for 
once she seems to have hit upon a truth." 

On a glorious night of stars, he walked with his son up to' 
the open moor. A summer breeze whispered fitfully betwetfd 
the dark-blue vault and the grey earth j there was a sound M 
water that leapt from the bosom of the hills ; deep answering 
to deep, infinite to mfinite. After standing silent for a while, 
Jerome Otway laid a hand on his companion's shoulder, and 
muttered, " The creeds — the dogmas ! " 

They had two or three long conversations. Most of his 
time Piers spent in rambling alone about the moorland, for 
health and for weariness. When unoccupied, he durst not be 
physically idle; the passions that ever lurked to frenzy him 
couid only be baffled at such times by vigorous exercise. His 
cold bath in the early morning was followed by play of dumb- 
bells. He had made a cult of physical soundness ; he looked 
anxiously at his lithe, well-moulded limbs ; feebleness, disease, 
were the menaces of a supreme hope. Ideal love dwells not 
in the soul alone, but in every vein and nerve and muscle of .i 
frame strung to perfect service. Would he win his heart's 
desire? — let him be worthy of it in body as in mind. He- 
pursued to excess the point of cleanliness. With no touch- 
personal conceit, he excelled the perfumed exquisite in 
for minute perfections. Not in costume; on that score 
lias indifferent, once the corvdUwns ot htaith fulfilled, 



;an's 

1 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 99 I 

Inherited lone was far from perfect ; with rage he looked hack 
upon those insensate years of study, which had weakened him 
usl when he should have been carefully fortifying his constitu- 
ion. Only by conflict daily renewed did he keep in the way 
>f safety ; a natural indolence had ever to be combated ; there 
iras always the fear of relapse, such as had befallen him now 
ind again during his years in Russia ; a relapse not alone in 
)hysi^ training, but from the ideal of chastity. He had 
:ursed the temper of his blood ; he had raved at himself for 
rulgar gratifications ; and once more the struggle was renewed, 
isceticism in diet had failed him doubly; it reduced his 
flower of wholesome exertion, and caused a mental languor 
jeacherous to his chief purpose. Nowadays he ate and 
llrank like any other of the sons of men, on the whole to his 
)lain advantage. 

A day or two after receiving a letter from Mrs. Hannaford, 
in which she told him of her removal to Dr. Derwent's house, 
he bade farewell to his father. 

To his hotel in London, that night, came a note he had 
^txpected. Mrs. Hannaford asked him to call in Bryanston 
Square at eleven the next morning. 

As he approached the house, memories shamed him. How 
'he had slunk about the Square under his umbrella; how he 
id turned away in black despair after that "Not at home" ; 
s foolish long-tailed coat, his glistening stove-pipe ! To-day, 
with scarce a thought for his dress, he looked merely what he 
wasi an educated man, of average physique, of intelligent 
TJaage, of easy bearing. For all that, his heart throbbed as he 
Blood at the door, and with catching breath he followed the 
servant upstairs. 

Before Mrs. Hannaford appeared, he had time to glance 
round the drawing-room, which was simpler in array than is 
»>mmon in such houses. His eye fell upon a portrait, a large 
rayon drawing, hung in a place of honour; he knew it must 
^present Irene's mother; there was a resemblance to the face 
Irhich haunted him, with more of sweetness, with a riper 
lumanity. Whilst his wife still lived, Dr. Derwent had not 
een able to afford a painting of her : this drawing was done, 
nd well done, in the after days from photographs. On the 
all beneath it was a little bracket, supporting a little glass 
essel which held a rose. The year lounA, 'i.Vli^ Xawj ^va: 
r lacked its Sower. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



Mrs. Hannaford entered. Her smile of greeting was not 
untroubled, but, seeing her for the first time somewhat ornately 
clad, and with suitable background, Piers was struck by the 
air of youth that animated her features. He had always 
admired Mrs, Hannaford, had always liked her, and as she 
took his hand in both her own, he felt a warm response to her 
unfeigned kindliness, 

"Well, is it settled?" 

"It is settled. 1 go back to Odessa, remain with the fii 
for another six months, then make the great launch I " 

They laughed together, both nervously. Piers' eyi 
wandered, and Mrs. Hannaford, as she sat down, made 
obvious effort to compose herself. 

" I didn't ask you, the other day," she began, as if on 
sudden thought, " whether you had seen either of yi 
brothers." 

Piers shook his head, smiling. 

" No. Alexander, I hear, is somewhere in the North, dob^,: 
provincial journalism. Daniel^l believe he is in London, 
but I'm not very likely to meet him." 

" Don't you wish to?" asked the other lightly, 

" Oh, I'm not very anxious. Daniel and I haven't a great 
interest in each other, I'm afraid. You haven't 
lately ? " 

"No, no," Mrs. Hannaford answered, with an absent 
" No —not for a long time. I have hoped to see an 
ment of his book," 

" His book ?— Ah, I remember. I fear we shall wait long 
for that." 

" But he really was working at it," said Mrs. Hannaford, 
bending forward with a peculiar earnestness, " When he last 
spoke to me about it, he said the material grew so on his 
hands. And then, there is the expense of publication. Such 
a volume, really well illustrated, must cost much to produce, 
and the author would have to bear" — 

Piers was smiling oddly ; she broke ofT, and observed him, 
as if the smile pained her. 

" Let us have faith," said Otway, " Daniel is a clever aua| 
no doubt, and may do something yet." fl 

Mrs, Hannaford abruptly changed the subject, returnii^ d 
Piers' prospects. They talked for half an hour, the lady's IJ^ 
occasionally turning towards the door, and Owtav someiMBi* 



ireat _ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE loi 

losing himself as he glanced at the crayon portrait. He was 
thinking of a reluctant withdrawal, when the door opened. 
He heard a soft rustle, turned his head, and rose. 

It was Irene ! Irene in all the grace of her earlier day, and 
with maturer beauty; Irene with her light step, her bravely 
balanced head, her smile of admirable courtesy, her golden 
voice. Otway knew not what she said to him; something 
frank, cordial, welcoming. For an instant he had held her 
hand, and felt its coolness thrill him to his heart of hearts ; 
he had bent before her, mutely worshipping. His brain was 
on fire with the old passion newly kindled. He spoke, he 
was beginning to converse ; the room grew real again ; he was 
aware once more of Mrs. Hannaford's presence, of a look she 
had fixed upon him. A look half amused, half compassionate ; 
he answered it with a courageous smile. 

Miss Derwent was in her happiest mood ; impossible to be 
kinder and friendlier in that merry way of hers. Scarce 
having expected to meet her, still keeping in his mind the 
anguish of that calamitous and shameful night three years ago 
when he fled before her grave reproof, Piers beheld her and 
listened to her with such a sense of passionate gratitude that 
he feared lest some crazy word should escape him. That 
Irene remembered, no look or word of hers suggested ; unless, 
indeed, the perfection of her kindness aimed at assuring him 
that the past was wholly past. She made inquiry about his 
father's health ; she spoke of his life at Odessa, and was full 
of interest when he sketched his projects. To crown all, she 
said, with her eyes smiling upon him : 

"My father would so like to know you; could you dine 
with us one evening before you go ? " 

Piers declared his absolute freedom for a week to come. 

" Suppose, then, we say Thursday ? An old friend of ours 
will be with us, whom you may like to meet." 

She spoke a name which surprised and delighted him ; that 
of a scientific man known the world over. Piers went his way 
with raptures and high resolves singing at his heart. 

For the rest of daytime it was enough to walk about the 
streets in sun and shower, seeing a glorified London, one 
exquisite presence obscuring every mean thing and throwing 
liffht upon all that was beautiful. He did not reason with 
himself about Irene's friendliness ; it had cast a s^^ "vx^o^ 
him, and be knew only his joy, his worship. TYvtee '^^'ax^ o\ 




have 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



laborious exile were trifling in the balance; had they I 
passed in sufferings ten times as great, her smile would hal 
paid for all. 

Fortunately, he had a little business to transact in Londor _ 
on the two mornings that followed he was at his firm's houal 
in the City, making reports, answering inquiries — main^ 
about wool and hemp. Piers was erudite concerning Russia 
wool and hemp. He talked about it not like the ordinary 
business man, but as a scholar might who had very thoroughly 
got up the subject. His firm did not altogether approve this 

attitude of mind ; they thought it queer, and would have 

smiled caustically had they known Otway's purpose of startii 
as a merchant on his own account. That, he had not y 
announced, and would not do so until he had seen his Swi 
friend at Odessa again. 

The evening of the dinner arrived, and again Piers was rapt 
above himself. Nothing could have been more cordial than 
Dr. Derwent's reception of him, and he had but to look into 
the Doctor's face to recognise a man worthy of reverence ; a 
man of genial wisdom, of the largest humanity, of the sanest 
mirth. Eustace Derwent was present ; he behaved with 
exemplary good-breeding, remarking suavely that they had 
met before, and betraying in no corner of his pleasant smile 
that that meeting had been other than delightful to both. 
Three guests arrived, besides Otway, one of them the distin- 
guished person whose name had impressed him ; a grizzled 
gentleman, of bland brows, and the simplest, softest manner. 

At table there was general conversation — the mode oF 
civilised beings. His mind in a whirl at first, Otway presently 
found himself quite capable of taking part in the talk. Some- 
one had told a story illustrative of superstition in English 
peasant folk, and Piers had only to draw upon his Russian 
experiences for pursuit of the subject. He told how, in a time 
of great drought, he had known a corpse dug up from its grave 
by peasantry, and thrown into a muddy pond — a vigorous 
measure for the calling down of rain ; also, how he had seen 
a priest submit to be dragged on his back across a turnip-field, 
that thereby a great crop might be secured. These things 
interested the great man, who sat opposite; he beamed upon 
Otway, and sought from him further information regarding 
Jtussia. Piers saw that Irene had turned to him ; he bet^ij 
himself ia cominaiid, he spoke neVftiet Vqq mvich nor too litdUfl 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 103 

and as the things he knew were worth knowing, his share in 
the talk made a very favourable impression. In truth, these 
three years had intellectually much advanced him. It was at 
this time that he began to use the brief, decisive turn of speech 
which afterwards became his habit ; a mode of utterance 
suggesting both mental resources and force of character. 

Later in the evening, he found himself beside Mrs. 
Hannaford in a corner of the drawing-room. He had hoped 
to speak a little with Miss Derwent, in semi-privacy, but of 
that there seemed no chance ; enough that he had her so long 
before his eyes. Nor did he venture to speak of her to her « 
aunt, though with difficulty subduing the desire. He knew 
that Mrs. Hannaford understood what was in his mind, and 
he felt pleased to have her for a silent confidante. She, not 
altogether at ease in this company, was glad to talk to Otway 
of everyday things ; she mentioned her daughter, who was 
understood to be living elsewhere for the convenience of 
artistic studies. 

" I hope you will be able to meet Olga before you go. She 
shuts herself up from us a great deal— something like you 
used to do at Ewell, you remember." 

"I do, only too well. Why mayn't I go and call on her?" 

Mrs. Hannaford shook her head, vaguely, trying to smile. 

"She must have her own way, like all artists. Jf she 
succeeds, she will come amongst us again," 

" I know that spirit," said Piers, " and perhaps it's the right 
one. Give her my good wishes — they will do no harm." 

The image of Olga Hannaford was distinct before his mind's 
eye, but did not touch his emotions. He thought with little 
interest of her embarking on an artist's career, and had small 
belief in her chances of success. Under the spell of Irene, he 
felt coldly critical towards all other women ; every image of 
feminine charm paled and grew remote when hers was actually 
before him, and it would have cost a great effort of mind to 
assure himself that he had not felt precisely thus ever since the 
days at Ewell, The truth was, of course, that though imagina- 
tion could always restore Irene's supremacy, and constantly did 
so, though his intellectual being never failed from allegiance 
to her, his blood had been at the mercy of any face sufficiently 
alluring. So it would be again, little as he could now believe 

■ Sefore he departed, he had his wish of a levi m\rciVe.^ ^sS*. 




THE CROWN OF LIFE 



with her. The words exchanged were insignificant. Piers h: 
nothing ready to his tongue but commonplace, and Miss 
Derwent answered as became her. As he left the room he 
suffered a flush of anger, the natural revolt of every being who 
lives by emotion against the restraints of polite intercourse. At 
such moments one feels the bonds wrought for themselves by 
civilised mankind ; commonly accepted without consciousness 
of voluntary or involuntary restraint. In revolt, he broke 
through these trammels of self-subduing nature, saw himself 
free man before her free woman, in some sphere of the unem- 
barrassed impulse, and uttered what was in him, pleaded with 
all his life, conquered by vital energy. Only when he had 
walked back to the hotel was he capable of remembering that 
Irene, in taking leave, bad spoken the kindest wishes for his 
future, assuredly with more than the common hostess-note,. 
Dr. Derwent, too, had held his hand with a pleasant grip, sayi 
good things, It was better than nothing, and he felt bum; 
grateful amid the fire that tortured him. 

In his room, the sight of pen, ink and paper was a sore' 
temptation. At Odessa he had from time to time written 
what he thought poetry (it was not quite that, yet as verse not 
contemptible), and now, recalling to memory some favourite 
lines, he asked himself whether he might venture to write them 
out and send them to Miss Derwent. Could he leave England, 
this time, without confessing himself to her ? Faint heart — 
he mused over the proverb. The thought of a laboured letter 
repelled him, and perhaps her reply — if she replied at all — 
would be a blow scarce endurable. In the offer of a copy of 
verses there is no undue presumption ; it is a consecrated 
form of homage; it demands no immediate response. 

; they good enough, these rhymes of his? — He woi 
decide to-morrow, his last day. 

And, as was his habit, he read a little before sleeping, in 
of the half-dozen volumes which he had chosen for 
journey. It was I^s Chants du CripusmU, and thus the 
sang: 



lad 



lotej^ 

,yin|S 



Car rBmour, c'est la v 



Quand o 

Sins tui rien n'est cciniplel, •- 
La beaWe c'est le front, I'air 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 105 

His own lines sounded a sad jingle; he grew ashamed 
of them, and in the weariness of his passions he fell asleep. 

He had left till to-morrow the visit he owed to John Jacks. 
It was not pleasant, the thought of calling at the house at 
Queen's Gate ; Mrs. Jacks might have heard strange things 
about him on that mad evening three years ago. Yet in 
decency he must go ; perhaps, too, in self-interest. And at the 
wonted hour he went. 

Fortunately ; for John Jacks seemed unfeignedly glad to see 
him, and talked with him in private for half an hour after the 
observances of the drawing-room, where Mrs. Jacks had been 
very sweetly proper and properly sweet. In the library, much 
more at his ease, Otway told what he had before him, all the 
details of his commercial project. 

" It occurs to me," said John Jacks — who was looking far 
from well, and at times spoke with an effort — " that I may be 
able to be of some use in this matter. I'll think about it, and 
— leave me your address — I shall probably write to you. And 
now tell me all about your father. He is hale and 
hearty ? " 

"In excellent health, I think," Piers replied cheerfully. 
" Dante suffices him still." 

" Odd that you should have come to-day. I don't know 
why, I was thinking of your father all last night, — I don't sleep 
very well just now. I thought of the old days, a lifetime ago ; 
and I said to myself that I would write him a letter. So I will, 
to-day. And in a month or two I^ shall see him. I'm a 
walking copybook-line; procrastination — nothing but putting 
off pleasures and duties these last years ; I don't know how it 
is. But certainly I will go over to Hawes when I'm in 
Yorkshire. And I'll write to-day, tell him I've seen 
you." 

Much better in spirits. Piers returned to the hotel. Yes, 
after all, he would copy out those verses of his, and send them 
to Miss Derwent. They were not bad ; they came from his 
heart, and they might speak to hers. Just his name at the end ; 
no address. If she desired to write to him, she could easily 
learn his address from Mrs. Hannaford. He would send 
them! 

" A telegram for you, sir," said the porter, as he entered. 

Wondering, he opened it. 



io6 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

" Your father has suddenly died. Hope this will reach you 
in time. Emma Otway." 

For a minute or two, the message was meaningless. He 
stood reading and re-reading the figures which indicated hour 
of despatch and of delivery. Presently he asked for a railway- 
guide, and with shaking hands, with agony of mental confusion, 
sought out the next train northwards. There was just time to 
catch it ; not time to pack his bag. He rushed out to the 
cab. 



CHAPTER XIV 

" T^HE circumstances are these. On the day after I said 
-*• good-bye to him, my father went for his usual morning 
walk, and was absent for two hours. He returned looking 
very pale and disturbed, and with some difficulty was per- 
suaded (you know how he disliked speaking of himself) to tell 
what had happened. It seems that, somewhere on the lonely 
road, he came across two men, honest-looking country folk, 
engaged in a violent quarrel ; their language made it clear that 
one accused the other of some sort of slander, a very trivial 
affair. Just as my father came up to them, they began fight- 
ing. He interfered, tried to separate them — as he would have 
done, I am sure, had they been armed with pistols, for the 
sight of fighting was intolerable to him, it put him beside 
himself with a sort of passionate disgust. They were great 
strong fellows, and one of them, whether intentionally or not, 
dealt him a fierce blow in the chest, knocking him down. 
That put an end to the fight. My father had to sit by the 
roadside for a time before he could go home. 

" The next day he did not look well, but spent his time as 
usual, and on the morning after, he seemed to be all right 
again. The next day again he went for his walk, and did not 
return. When his absence became alarming, messengers were 
sent to look for him, and by one of these he was found lying 
oh the moorside, dead. The post-mortem showed that the 
blow he had received affected the heart, which was already 
•diseased (he did not know that). Of course the man who 
struck him cannot be discovered, and I don't know that it 
matters. My father would no doubt have been glad to 
foresee such a death as this. It was sudden (for that he 
always hoped), and it came of a protest against the thing he 
most hated, brutal violence." 

So Piers Otway wrote in a letter to John Jacks. ^^ ^x^xv^v 
add that his father had died intestate, but oilYiaXYw^^^s ^^^\^ 

107 



I 



io8 THE CROWN OF LIFE ■ 

before any inquiries had been set on foot ; in one of their last 
talks, Jerome had expressly told his son that he would shortly 
make a will, not having hitherto been able to decide how his 
possessions should be distributed. This intestacy meant (if 
Daniel Otway had spoken truth) that Piers would have no fruit 
whatever of his father's promises ; that his recent hopes and 
schemes would straightway fall to the ground. 

And so it was. A telegram from Piers brought down into 
Yorkshire the solicitor who had for many years been Jerome 
Otway's friend and adviser; he answered the young man's 
inquiries with full and decisive information. Mrs. Otway 



»mquiries witli lull and decisive mlormation. Mrs. Utway.^^ 
already knew the fact ; whence her habitual coldness to PieTS,i^| 
and the silent acerbity with which she behaved to him at thi^H 
juncture. ^M 

" Mrs, Otway," said Piers Co her, on the day of the inquest^H 
" I shall stay for my father's funeral, and to avoid gossip I sti^H 
ask your hospitality. I do it with reluctance, but you wil^| 
very soon see the last of me." ^H 

"You are of course welcome to stay in the house," replied" 

' ■ 2 be 

ngly 

;nc^ 

IthS 
hatf^ 



1 



the lady. "There is no need to say that we shall in future be 
strangers, and I only hope that the example of this shockingly 
sudden death in the midst of "— 

His blood boiling, Piers left the room before the sentent 
was finished. 

Had he obeyed his conscience, he would have followed tl 
coffin in the clothes he was wearing, for many a time he hai 
heard his father speak with dislike of the black trappings which 
made a burial hideous ; but enforced regard for public opinion, 
that which makes cowards of good men and hampers the 
world's progress, sent him to the outfitter's, where he was duly 
disguised. With the secret tears he shed, there mingled s 
bitterness at being unable to show respect to his father's 
memory in such small matters. That Jerome Otway should be 
buried as a son of the Church, to which he had never belonged, 
was a ground of indignation, but neither in this could any 
effective protest be made. Mute in his sorrow, Piers marvelled 
with a young man's freshness of feeling at the forms and 
insincerities which rule the world. He had a miserable 
sense of his helplessness amid forces which he despised. 

On the day of the inquest arrived Daniel Otway, Fieis 
having telegraphed to the club where he had seen his brot* 
three years ago. Before leaving London, Daniel had provii 



.th^^ 



H THE CROWN OF LIFE 109 

himself with solemn black, of the latest cut ; Hawes people 
remarked him with curiosity, saying what a gentleman he 
looked, but whispering at the same time rumours and doubts ; 
for the little town had long gossiped about Jerome, a man not 
much to its mind. A day later came Alexander. With him 
there had been no means of communicating, and a newspaper 
paragraph informed him of his father's death. Appearing in 
rough tweeds, with a felt hat, he inspired more curiosity than 
respect. Both brothers greeted Piers cordially ; both were curt 
and formal with the widow, but, for appearances' sake, accepted 
a cramped lodging in the cottage. Piers kept very much to 
himself until the funeral was over; he was then invited by 
Daniel to join a conference in what had been his father's room. 
Here the man of law (Jerome's name for him) expounded the 
posture of things ; with all professional, and some personal, tact 
and delicacy. Will there was certainly none j Daniel, in the 
course of tilings, would apply for letters of administration. 
The estate, it might be said, consisted of certain shares in a 
prosperous newspaper, an investment which could be easily 
realised, and of a small capital in consols; to the best of the 
speaker's judgment, the shares were worth about six thousand 
pounds, the consols amounted to nearly fifteen hundred. 
This capital sum, the widow and the sons would divide in legal 
proportion. Followed technicalities, with conversation. Mrs. 
Otway kept dignified silence; Piers, in the background, sat 
with eyes sunk. 

"I think," remarked the sohcitor gravely and firmly, 
" that, assembled as we are in privacy, 1 am only doing my 
duly in making known that the deceased had in view (as I 
know from hints in his correspondence) to assist his youngest 
son substantially, as soon as that son appeared likely to benefit 
by such pecuniary aid. I think I am justified in saying that 
that time had arrived, that death interposed at an unfortunate 
moment as regards such plans. I wished only to put the point 
before you, as one within my own knowledge. — Is there 
any question you would like to ask me at present, Mrs. 
Otway ? " 

The widow shook her head (and her funeral trappings). 
Thereupon sounded Piers Otway's voice. 

" I should like to say that as I have no legal claim whatever 
Upon my father's estate, I do not wish to put^Qr«Mi.a.Oiacasv 
of any other kind. Let that be understood aV o-RCtr 



M 



no THE CROWN OF LIFE 

There was sOeiice. Tbej heard die valeis of die beck 
rashh^ orer its stODj cfaamid. For how mai^ dioosaid jeais 
had die beck so uiuiuim ed? For how mai^ dioosaid woukl 
it murmiir still ? 

^ As the eldest son," then observed Damd, widi his Oxford 
accent, and a sob-note of feding, ''I desire to say that my 
brother " — he generously emphasised die wend — ** has eipressed 
himself very well, in the spirit of a gendemaiL Perhaps I had 
better say no more at diis moment We shall have other 
opportunities of — of considenng this point" 

** Decidedly," remarked Alexander, who sat with legs crossed. 
"Well talk it over." 

And he nodded with a good-natured smile in Piers' 
direction. 

Later in the day — a. Cunily council having been hdd at 
which Piers was not present — Daniel led ti^ young man 
apart 

"You insist on leaving Hawes to-night? Well, perhaps it 
is best But, my dear boy, I can't let you go without saying 
how deeply I sympathise with your position. You bear it like 
a man, Piers ; indeed you do. I think I have mentioned to 
you before how strong I am on the side of morals." 

" If you please," Piers interrupted, with brow dark. 

"No, no, no!" exclaimed the other. "I was far from 
casting any reflection. JDe tnortuis^ you know ; much more so 
when one speaks of a father. I think, by the bye, Alec ought 
to write something about him for publication ; don't you ? I 
was going to say. Piers, that, if I remember rightly, I am in 
your debt for a small sum, which you very generously lent me. 
Ah, that book ! It grows and grows ; I carCt get it into final 
form. The fact is Continental art critics — But I was going to 
say that I must really insist on being allowed to pay my debt 
— indeed I must — as soon as this business is settled." 

He paused, watching Piers' face. His own had not waxed 
more spiritual of late years, nor had his demeanour become 
more likely to inspire confidence ; but he was handsome, in a 
way, and very fluent, very suave. 

" Be it so," replied Piers frankly ; " I shall be glad of the 
money, I confess." 

" To be sure ! You shall have it with the least possible 
delay. And, Piers, it has struck us, my dear fellow, that you 
might like to choose a volume or two of the good old man's 



THE CROWN OF LIFE iii 

library, as a memento. We beg you will do so. We beg you 
will do it at once, before you leave." 

"Thank you. I should like the Dante he used to carry in 
his pocket." 

" A mo5t natural wish, Piers. Take it by all means. 
Nothing else, you tbink?" 

" Ves. You once told me that you had seen a portrait of 
my mother. Do you tbink it still exists ? " 

"I will inquire about it," answered Daniel gravely. "It 
was a framed photograph, and at one time — many years ago^ 
used to stand oa his writing-table. I will inquire, my dear 
boy." 

Next, Alexander sought a private colloquy with his dis- 
inherited brother, 

" Look here, Piers," he began bluffly, " it's a cursed shame ! 
I'm hanged if it isn't ! If we weren't so solemn, my boy, I 
should quote Bumble about the law. Of course it's the grossest 
absurdity, and as far as I'm concerned — By Jove, Piers 1 " he 
cried, with sudden change of subject, " if you knew the hard 
times Biddy and I have been going through ! Eh, but she's 
a brick, is Biddy ! She sent you her love, old boy, and that's 
worth something, I can tell you. But I was going to say that 
you mustn't suppose I've forgotten about the debt. Vou shall 
be repaid as soon as ever we realise this property ; you shall. 
Piers ! And, what's more, you shall be repaid with interest ; 
yes, three per cent. It would be cursed meanness if I 
didn't." 

"The fifty pounds I shall be glad of," said Piers. "I want 
no interest. I'm not a money-lender." 

" We won't quarrel about that," rejoined Alexander, with a 
merry look. " But come now, why don't you let a fellow hear 
from you now and then ? What are you doing ? Going back 
among the Muscovites ? " 

"Straight back to Odessa, yes." 

" I may look you up there some day, if Biddy can spare me 
for a few weeks. A glimpse of the bear — it might be useful to 
Terrible savages, I suppose?" 
s laughed impatiently, and gave no other answer. 

j'Well, the one thing I really wanted to say. Piers — you 

rf let me say it — I, for one, shall take a strong stand about 

r moral rights in this business here. Of course your claim 

I every bit as good as ours ; only a dunder-headed jackass 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 

I me, 
She 
your 

-gy W 



I 



would see it in any other way. Daniel quite agrees with me, 
The difficulty will be that woman. A terrible woman ! She 
regards you as sealed for perdition by the mere fact of your 
birth. But you will hear from us, old boy, be sure of ths 
Give me your Muscovite address." 

Piers carelessly gave it. He was paying hardly any attentiol 
to hb brother's talk, and would have felt it waste of energy t) 
reassert what he had said in the formal conclave. Wearines^ 
had come upon him after these days of grief and indignant 
tumult ; he wanted to be alone. 

The portrait for which he had asked was very quickly found. 
It Jay in a drawer, locked away among other mementoes of the 
past. With a shock of disappointment. Piers saw that the old 
photograph had faded almost to invisibility. He just discerned 
the outlines of a pleasant face, the dim su^estion of womanly 
charm— all he would ever see of the mother who bore him. 

" It seems to me," said Daniel, after sympathising with his 
chagrin, " that there must be a lot of papers, literary work, 
letters, and that kind of thing, which will have more interest 
for you than for anyone else. \Vhen we get things looked 
through, shall I send you whatever I think you would care for?" 

With gratitude Piers accepted what he could not have . 
brought himself to ask for. i 

On the southward journey he kept taking from his pockeM 
two letters which had reached him at Hawcs. One was from 
John Jacks, full of the kindliest condolence ; a manly letts 
which it did him good to read. The other came from Mrs 
Hannaford, womanly, sincere ; it contained a pass^e to whicj 
Piers returned again and again. " My niece is really grieved 
to hear of your sudden loss; happening at a moment when alt ' 
seemed going well with you. She begs me to assure you of 
her very true sympathy, and sends every good wish." Little 
enough, this, but the recipient tried to make much of it. He 
had faintly hoped that Irene might send him a line in her owi 
hand. That was denied, and perhaps he was foolish even fl 
have dreamt of it. J 

He could not address his verses to her, now. He mi4 
hurry away from England, and try to forget her. 

Of course she would hear, one way or another, about 1 
circumstances of his birth. It would come out that he I 
no share in the property left by his father, and the r 
jnade known. He hoped that she mi^ht also learn that death 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 113 

had prevented his father's plan for benefiting him. He hoped 
it; for in that case she might feel compassion. Yet in the 
same moment he felt that this was a delusive solace. Pity for 
a man because he had lost money does not incline to warmer 
emotion. The hope was sheer feebleness of spirit. He 
spumed it; he desired no one's compassion. 

How would Irene regard the fact of his illegitimacy ? Not, 
assuredly, from Mrs. Otway's point of view ; she was a century 
ahead of that Possibly she was capable of dismissing it as 
indifferent But he could not be certain of her freedom from 
social prejudice. He remembered the singular shock with 
which he himself had first learnt what he was; a state of 
mind quite irrational, but only to be dismissed with an effort 
of the trained intelligence. Irene would undergo the same 
experience, and it might affect her thought of him for ever. 

Not for one instant did he visit these troubles upon the 
dead man. His loyalty to his father was absolute ; no thought, 
or half-thought, looked towards accusation. 

He arrived at his hotel in London late at night, drank a 
glass of spirits, and went to bed. The sleep he hoped for 
came immediately, but lasted only a couple of hours. Suddenly 
he was wide aw2dce, and a horror of great darkness enveloped 
him. What he now suffered he had known before, but with 
less intensity. He stared forward into the coming years, and 
saw nothing that his soul desired. A life of solitude, of bitter 
firustration. Were it Irene, were it another, the woman for 
whom he longed would never become his. He had not the 
power of inspiring love. The mere flesh would constrain him 
to marriage, a sordid union, a desecration of his ideal, his 
worship ; and in the latter days he would look back upon a 
futile life. What is life without love ? And to him love meant 
communion with the noblest. Nature had kindled in him this 
fiery ambition only for his woe. 

All the passion of the great hungry world seemed concen- 
trated in his sole being. Images of maddening beauty glowed 
upon him out of the darkness, glowed and gleamed by he knew 
not what creative mandate ; faces, forms, such as may visit the 
delirium of a supreme artist. Of him they knew not ; they 
were worlds away, though his own brain bodied them forth. 
He smothered cries of agony ; he flung himself upon his face^ 
and lay as one dead. 

For the men capable of passionate love (and Xiie^ ^'t^ ^^"^^ 
S 



114 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

to miss love is to miss everything. Life has but the mockery 
of consolation for that one gift denied. The heart may be 
dulled by time ; it is not comforted. Illusion if it be, it is 
that which crowns all other illusions whereof life is made. 
The man must prove it, or he is bom in vain. 

At sunrise. Piers dressed himself, and made ready for his 
journey. He was worn with fever, had no more strength to 
hope or to desire. His body was a mechanism which must 
move and move. 



CHAPTER XV 

TN the saloon of a homeward-bound steamer, twenty-four 
J- hours from port, and that port Southampton, a lady sat 
writing letters. Her age was about thirty ; her face was rather 
piquant than pretty ; she had the air of a person far too 
intelligent and spirited to be involved In any life of mere 
routine, on whatever plane. Two letters she had written in 
French, one in German, and that upon which she was now 
engaged was in English, her native tongue ; it began " Dearest 
Mother." 

"All's well. A pleasant and a quick voyage. The one 
incident of it which you will care to hear about is that I have 
made friends — a real friendship, I think — with a delightful 
girl, of respectability which will satisfy even you. — Judge for 
yourself; she is the daughter of Dr. Derwent, a distinguished 
scientific man, who has been having a glimpse of Colonial 
life. When we were a day or two out I found that Miss 
Derwent was the object of special interest ; — she and her 
father had been the guests of no less a personage than Trafford 
Romaine, and it was reported that the great man had offered 
her marriage ! Who started the rumour I don't know, but it 
is quite true that Romaine did propose to her — and was refused ! 
1 am assured of it by a friend of theirs on board, Mr. Arnold 
Jacks, an intimate friend of Romaine ; but he declares that he 
did not start the story, and was surprised to find it known. 
Miss Derwent herself? No, my dear cynical mamma! She 
isn't that sort. She likes me as much as I like her, I think, 
but in all our talk not a word from her about the great topic 
of curiosity. It is just possible, 1 fear, that she means to marry 
Mr. Arnold Jacks, who, by the bye, is a son of a Member of 
Parliament, and rather an interesting man, but, 1 am quite 
sure, not the man for her. If she will come down into 

Kpshire with me, may 1 bring her? li -jjouVi ^o ie\a«j& 
dear sou! to he assured that I have \oo,4e s'it^o. ^ 
lis 



ii6 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



friend, after what you are pleased to call my riff-raff foie^ 
intimacies." 

A few words more of affectionate banter, and she sigi 
herself " Helen M, Borisoff." 

As she was addressing the envelope, Ihe sound of a 1; _ 
thrown on to the table just in front of her caused her to lo( 
up, and she saw Irene Derwent, 

"What's the matter? Why are you damaging the shiJ 
literature ? " she asked gaily. 

*' No, I can't stand that ! " exclaimed Irene. ' 
imbecile. It really is what our slangy friend calls ' 
very dry rot, Have you read the thing ? " 

Mrs. Borisoff looked at the title, and answered with a hea 
shake. 

" Imagine ! An awful apparatus of mystery ; blood-curdlin" 
hints about the hero, whose prospects in life are supposed to 
be utterly blighted. And all because — what do you think? 
Because his father and mother forgot the marriage ceremony." 

The other was amused, and at the same time surprised. 
It was the first time that Miss Derwent, in Iheir talk, had 
allowed herself a remark suggestive of what is called " emanci- 
pation." She would talk with freedom of almost any subjef 
save that specifically forbidden to English girls. 
Borisoff, whose finger showed a wedding ring, had respect 
this reticence, hut it delighted her to see a new side of h 
friend's attractive personality. 

" I suppose in certain circles " — she began. 

"Oh yes! Shopkeepers and clerks and so on. But I 
- book is supposed Co deal with civilised people. It really d 
me angry I " 

Mrs. Borisoff regarded her with amused curiosity, 
eyes met. Irene nodded. 

" Yes," she continued, as if answering a question, " ] 
someone in just that position. And all at once it struck n 
— I had hardly thought of it before — what an idiot I 
be if I let it affect my feelings or behaviour ! " 

" I think no one would have suspected you of siu 
narrowness." 

" Indeed, I hope not ! — Have you done your letters ? 
come up and watch Mrs. Smithson playing at quoits — a sigj 
to rout the brood of cares ! " 

la the smoking-room on deck sat Dr. Derwent and Arnold 




THE CROWN OF LIFE 117 

fccks, conversing gravely, with subdued voices. The Doctor 
on his meditative features; his eyes were cast 
; he looked a trifle embarrassed. 

" Forgive me," Arnold was saying, with some earnestness, 
'' if this course seems to you rather irregular " — 

" Not at all ! Not at all ! But I can only assure you of 
my honest inability to answer the question. Try, my dear 
fellow ! Sohiinr qu<BreHdo I " 

Jacks' behaviour did, in fact, appear to the Doctor a little 
odd. That the young man should hint at his desire to ask 
Miss Derwent to marry him, or perhaps ask the parental 
approval of such a step, was natural enough ; the event had 
been looming since the beginning of the voyage home. But 
to go beyond this, to ask the girl's father whether he thought 
success likely, whether he could hold out hopes, was scarcely 
pennissible. It seemed a curious failure of tact in such a man 
as Arnold Jacks. 

The fact was that Arnold, for the first time in his life, 
had turned coward. Having drifted into a situation which he 
had always regarded as undesirable, and had felt strong enough 
to avoid, he lost his head, and clutched rather wildly at the 
first support within reach. That Irene Derwent should be- 
come his wife was not a vital matter ; he could contemplate 
quite coolly the possibility of marrying someone else, or, if 
it came to that, of not marrying anyone at all. What shook 
his nerves was the question whether Irene would be sure to 
accept him. 

Six months ago, he had no doubt of it, He viewed Miss 
Derwent with an eye accustomed to scrutinise, to calculate 
(in things Imperial and other), and it amused him to reflect 
that she might be numbered among, say, half a dozen eligible 
women who would think it an honour to marry him. This 
was his way of viewing marriage ; it was on the woman's side 
a point of ambition, a gratification of vanity ; on the man's, 
dignified condescension, Arnold conceived himself a brilliant 
match for any girl below the titled aristocracy ; he had grown 
so accustomed to magnify his place, to regard himself as one 
of the pillars of the Empire, that he attributed the same 
estimate to all who knew him. Of personal vanity he had 
little; purely personal characteristics did not enter, he 
i manned, into a man's prospects of matrimony. Certain 
women openly flattered him, and these he despised. His 



I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE ■ 

sense of fitness demanded a woman inlelligent enough to 
appredate what he had to offer, and sufficiently well-bted to 
conceal her emotions when he approached her. These con- 
ditions Miss Derwent fulfilled- Personally she would do him 
credit (a wife, of course, must be presentable, though in the 
husband appearance did not matter), and her obvious social 
qualities would be useful. Vet he had had no serious thought 
of proposbg to her. For one thing, she was not rich enough. 

The change began when he observed the impression made 
by her upon Trafford Romaine. This was startling. Romaine, 
tile administrator of world-wide repute, the man who had but 
to choose among Greater Britain's brilliant daughters (or so 
his worshipper believed), no sooner looked upon Irene Derwent 
than he betrayed his subjugation. No woman had ever 
received such honour from him, such homage public and 
private, Arnold Jacks was pricked with uneasiness; Irene 
had at once a new value in bis eyes, and he feared he had 
foolishly neglected his opportunities. If she married Romaine, 
it would be mortifying. She refused the great man's oflfer, 
and Arnold was at first astonished, then gratified. For such 
refusal there could be only one ground : Miss Derwent's 
" heart " was already disposed of. Women have " hearts " 
they really do grow fond of the men they admire ; a singul 
provision of nature. 

He would propose during the voyage. 

But the voyage was nearly over; he might have put 
formal little question fifty times; it was still to be asked- 
and he felt afraid. Afraid more than ever, now that he had 
committed himself with Dr. Denvent. The Doctor had 
received his confession so calmly, whereas Arnold hoped for 
some degree of effusiveness. Was he — hideous doubt — pre- 
paring for himself an even worse disillusion ? 

Undoubtedly the people on board had remarked his atten- 
tions ; for all he knew, jokes were being passed, nay, bets 
being made. It was a serious thing to proclaim oneself the 
wooer of a young lady who had refused Trafford Romaine ; 
who was known to have done so, and talked about with envy, 
admiration, curiosity. You either carried her off, or you 
made yourself fatally ridiculous. Half a dozen of the 
passengers would spread this gossip far and wide thtougfa 
England. There was that problematic Mrs. Borisofl) a fiiaU 
imee ^jdow, who sccmed to Vnow cio'Nds of distingoisl^l 



I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



119 



people, and who was watching him day by day with her con- 
founded smile ! Who could say what passed between her and 
Irene, intimates as they had become ? Did they malte fun of 
him ? Did they dare to ? 

Arnold Jacks differed widely from the common type of 
fatuous young man. He was himself a merciless critic of 
fatuity; he had a faculty of shrewd observation, plenty of 
caustic common sense. Yet the position into which he had 
drifted threatened him with ridiculous extremes of self- con- 
sciousness. Even in his personal carriage, he was not quite 
safe against ridicule ; and he felt it. This must come to an 
end. 

He sought his moment, and found it at the hour of dusk. 
The sun had gone down gloriously upon a calm sea ; the sky 
was overspread with clouds still flushed, and the pleasant 
coolness of the air foretold to-morrow's breeze on the English 
Channel. With pretence of watching a steamer that had 
passed, Arnold drew Miss Derwent to a part of the deck 
where they would be alone. 

"You will feel," he said abruptly, "that you know England 
better, now that you have seen something of the England 
beyond seas." 

" I had imagined it pretty well," replied Irene. 

"Yes, one does." 

Under common circumstances, Arnold would have scorn- 
fully denied the possibility of such imagination. He felt 
most unpleasantly tame. 

"You wouldn't care to make your home out yonder?" 

" Heaven forbid ! " 

This was better. It sounded like emphatic rejection of 
Trafford Romaine, and probably was meant to sound so. 

" I myself," he pursued absently, " shall always live in 
England. If I know myself, I can be of most service at the 
centre of things. Parliament, when the moment arrives " — 

"The moment when you can be most mischievous?" said 
Irene, with a glance at him. 

"That's how you put it. Yes, most miscliievous. The 
sphere for mischief is growing magnificent." 

He talked, without strict command of his tongue, just to 
gain time ; spoke of expanding Britain, and so on, a dribble 
Hi^commonplaces. Irene moved as if to rejoiiv Ket cxiTC*\iKWi - 
^V> Don't go just yet — I want you — r\o"« and ti'fla.'j^" 



ISO 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



\ 

ieep 
him 
tood 



Sheer nervousness gave his voice a tremor as if of deep 
emotion. These simple words, which had burst from him 
desperately, were the best he could have uttered — Irene stood 
with her eyes on the darkening horizon. 

" We know each other pretty well," he continued, "and thi 
better we know each other, the more we find to talk about 
It's a very good sign — don't you think? I can't see how I'n 
to get along without you, after this journey. I don't like t 
think of it, and I -mon'i think of it I Say there's no need to." 

Her silence, her still attitude, had restored his couta^, 
He spoke at length like himself, with quiet assurance, with— 
sincerity ; and again it was the best thing he could have donaX 

" I am not quite sure, Mr. Jacks, that 1 think about it t 
the same way." 

Her voice was subdued to a very pleasant note, but it di<^ 
not tremble. 

"lean allow for that uncertainty — though I have nothinj 

■ of it myself. We shall both be in London for a month < 

Let me see you as often as I can, and, before you leave tow] 

let me ask whether the doubt has been overcome." 

"I hold myself free," said Irene impulsively. 

" Naturally." 

" I do you no wrong if it seems to me ii 

" None whatever." 

His eyes were fixed on her face, dimly beautiful in I 
fading shimmer from sea and sky. Irene met his glance fof 
an instant, and moved away, he following. 

Arnold Jacks had never known a mood so jubilant 
was saved from the terror of humiliation. He had comport 
himself as behoved him, and the result was sure and c 
hope. He felt almost grateful, almost tender, towards I 
woman of his choice. 

But Irene, as she lay in her berth, strangely wakeful to ttu 
wash of the sea as the breeze freshened, was frightened at the 
thought of what she had done. Had she not, in the common 
way of maidenhood, as good as accepted Arnold Jacks' 
proposal? She did not mean it so; she spoke simply and 
directly in saying that she was not clear about her own mind ; 
on any other subject she would in fact, or in phrase, have 
reserved her independence. But an offer of marrit^e was a 
thing apart, full of subtle implications, needing to tfe del 
friib according to special niles ol toratvencie and of t 



■ THE CROWN OF LIFE izi 

Some five or six she had received, and in each case had 
replied decisively, her mind admitting no doubt. As when, 
to her astonishment, she heard the frank and large confession 
of TrafTord Romaine ; the answer was an inevitable— No ! 
To Arnold Jacks she could not reply thus promptly. Relying 
on the easy terms of their intercourse, she told him the truth ; 
and now she saw that no form of answer could be less 
discreet. 

For about a year she had thought of Arnold as one who 
might offer her marriage; any girl in her position would have 
foreseen that possibility. After every opportunity which he 
allowed to pass, she felt relieved, for she had no reply in 
readiness. The thought of accepting him was not at all 
disagreeable ; it had even its ailurements ; but between the 
speculation and the thmg itself was a great gap for the leaping 
of mind and heart. Her relations with him were very pleasant, 
and she would have been glad if nothing had ever happened 
to disturb them. 

When her father suggested this long journey in Arnold's 
company, she hesitated. In deciding to go, she said to herself 
that if nothing resulted, well and good ; if something did, 
well and good also. She would get to know Arnold better, 
and on that increase of acquaintance must depend the outcome, 
as far as she was concerned. She was helped in making up 
her mind by a little thing that happened. There came to her 
one day a letter from Odessa ; on opening it, she found only 
a copy of verses, with the signature " P. O." A love poem ; 
not addressed to her, but about her; a pretty poem, she 
thought, delicately felt and gracefully worded. It surprised 
ber, but only for a moment; thinking, she accepted it i 
something natural, and was touched by the tribute. She put 
it carefully away — knowing it by heart. 

Impertinence ? Surely not. Long ago she had reproached 
herself with her half - coquetry to Piers Otway, an error of 
exuberant spirits when she was still very young, There was 
no obscuring the fact ; deliberately she had set herself to draw 
him away from his studies ; she had made it a point of pride 
to show herself irresistible. Where others failed in their 
attack upon his austere seclusion, she would succeed, and 
easily. She had succeeded only too well, and it never quite 
Wto trouble her conscience. Now, teaiivm^ vVtA esen 
•Oil yean her victim still remained ioya\, s^e &Q\i^t ^ 




r 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 

him with much gentleness, and would have scorned herei 
had she felt scorn of his devotion. 

No other of her wooers had ever written her a poem 
other was capable of it. It gave Piers a distinction in 
mind which more than earned her pardon. 

But — poor fellow !— he must surely know that she couk 
never respond to his romantic feeling. It was pure romanc^j 
and charming — if only it did not mean sorrow to him and idle 
hopes. Such a love as this, distant, respectful, she would 
have liked to keep for years, for a lifetime. If only she could 
be sure that romance was as dreamily delightful to her poel 
as to her ! 

The worst of it was that Piers Otway had suffered a 
wrong, an injustice which, when she heard of it, made h< 
nobly angry, A month after the death of the old philosopher 
at Hawes, Mrs. Hannaford startled her with a strange story. 
The form it took was this : That Piers, having for a whispered 
reason no share in his father's possessions, had perforce given 
up his hopes of commercial enterprise, and returned to his old 
subordinate position at Odessa. The two legitimate sons 
would gladly have divided with him their lawful due, but 
Piers refused this generosity, would not hear of it for a 



iia 



Piers retused this generosity, would not hear or it lor a^j 
^L moment, stood on his pride, and departed. Thus Mrs^^H 
^B Hannaford, who fully believed what she said ; and as she ha^^| 
^P her information direct from the eldest son, ]!)aniel Otway^^^ 
^*" there r.nnld he. nn drtuht as to its correctness. Piers had ^^ 



there could be no doubt as to its correctness. Piers had 
behaved well ; he could not take alms from his half-brothers. 
But what a monstrous thing that accident and the law of the 
land left him thus destitute ! Feeling strongly about it, Irene 
begged her aunt, when next she wrote to Odessa, to give 
Piers, from her, a message of friendly encouragement ; not, 
of course, a message that necessarily implied knowledge of 
his story, but one that would help him with the assurance of 
his being always kindly remembered by friends in London. 

Six months after came the little poem, which Irene, withoi 
purposing it, learnt by heart. 

A chapter of pure romance ; one which, Irene felt, coult 
not possibly have any relation to her normal life. And 
perhaps because she felt that so strongly, perhaps because 
her conscience warned her against the danger of still seeming 
to encourage a lover she could not dream of manyii% 
I perhaps because these airy notbinga iVvit-w mto stronger -~'-^ 



of 

i 



I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 123 

the circumstances which environed her, she forthwith made 
■up her mind to go on the long journey with her father and 
Arnold Jacks. Mrs, Hannaford did not fail to acquaint Piers 
Otway with the occurrence. 

And those two months of companionship told in Arnold's 
favour. Jacks was excellent in travel ; he had lai^e experience, 
and showed to advantage on the highways of the globe. 
more entertaining companion during the long days of steam- 
ship life ; no safer guide in unfamiliar lands. His personality 
made a striking contrast with the robustious semi-civilisation of 
the colonists with whom Irene became acquainted ; 
appreciated all the more his many refinements. Morec 
the respectful reception he met with could not but impress 
her; it gave reality to what iVIiss Derwent sometimes laughed 
at, his claim to be a force in the great world. Then, that 
eternal word "Empire" gained somewhat of a new meaning. 
She joked about it, disliking as much as ever its baser 
significance, but she came to understand better the immense 
power it represented. On that subject, her father was 
emphatic. 

"If," remarked Dr. Derwent once, "if our politics ever fall 
into the hands of a stock-jobbing democracy, we shall be the 
hugest force for evil the poor old world has ever known." 

You think," said Irene, "that one can already see some 
danger of it?" 

" Well, I think so sometimes. But we have good men still, 
.good men." 

"Do you mind telling me," Miss Derwent asked, "whether 
our fellow-traveller seems to you one of them ? " 

On the whole, yes. His faults are balanced, 
think, by his aristocratic temper. He is too proud consciously 
to make dirty bargains. High-handed, of course ; but that's 
the race — the race. Things being as they are, I would as 
soon see him in power as another." 

Irene pondered this. It pleased her. 

On the morning after Arnold's proposal, she knew that he 
and her father had talked. Dr. Derwent, a shy man, rather 
avoided her look ; but he behaved to her with particular 
kindliness*; as they stood looking towards the coast of 
England, he drew her hand through his arm, and stroked it 
^once or twice— a thing he had not done on the whole ^oume^. 

"The brave old island!" he was murmMivn?,. "X^'s^ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 

1 t^' 



the 



be really disturbed if I thought death would find me awa] 
from it. Foolish fancy, but it's strong in me." 

Irene was taciturn, and unlike herself. The approach 
port enabled her to avoid gossips, but one person, Helen 
Borisoff, guessed what had happened; Irene's grave counte- 
; and Arnold Jacks' meditative smile partly instructed 
her. On the railway journey to London, Jacks had the 
discretion to keep apart in a smoking-carriage. Dr. Derwi "" 
and his daughter exchanged but few words until they foi 
themselves in Bryanston Square. 

During their absence abroad, Mrs. Hannaford had 
keeping house for them. With brief intervals, spent now and 
then in pursuit of health, she had made Bryanston Square her 
home since the change in her circumstances two years ago. 
Lee Hannaford held no communication with her, content to 
draw the modest income she put at his disposal, and Olga, her 
mother knew not why, was still unmarried, though declaring 
herself still engaged to the man Kite. She lived here and^ 
there in lodgings, at times seeming to maintain herself, 
others accepting help ; her existence had an air of mysti 
far from reassuring, 

On meeting her aunt, Irene found her looking ill 
troubled. Mrs. Hannaford declared that she was much 
usual, and evaded inquiries. She passed from joy at 
relatives' return to a mood of silent depression ; her 
made one think that she must have often shed tears of late, 
In the past twelvemonth she had noticeably aged ; her beauty 
was vanishing ; a nervous tremor often affected her thin hands, 
and in her speech there was at times a stammering uncertainty, 
such as comes of mental distress. Dr. Derwent, seeing 
after two months' absence, was gravely observant of t! 
things. 

" I wish you could find out what's troubling your aunt,' 
said to Irene, next day. " Something is, and something 
serious, though she won't admit it. I'm really uneasy a 
her." 

Irene tried to win the sufferer's confidence, but with<]| 
success. Mrs, Hannaford became irritable, and withdrew^ 
much as possible from sight. 

The girl had her own trouble, and it was one she mn 
aeeds keep to herself. She shrank from the next meet^ 
wj'tli Arnold Jacks, which cou\d i\ot \ot\% be ^c^t^ned. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 125 

took place three days after her return, when Arnold and Mrs. 
Jacks dined in Bryanston Square. John Jacks was to have 
come, but excused himself on the plea of indisposition. As 
might have been expected of him, Arnold was absolute 
discretion; he looked and spoke, perhaps, a trifle more gaily 
than usual, but to Irene showed no change of demeanour, and 
conversed with her no more than was necessary. Irene felt 
grateful, and once more tried to convince herself that she had 
done nothing irreparable. In fact, as in assertion, she was 
free. The future depended entirely on her own will and 
pleasure. That her mind was ceaselessly preoccupied with 
Arnold could only be deemed natural, for she had to come to 
a decision within three or four weeks' time. But — if necessary 
the respite should be prolonged. 

Eustace Derwent dined with them, and Irene noticed — 
what had occurred to her before now — that the yotmg man 
seemed to have particular pleasure in the society of Mrs. 
Jacks ; he conversed with her more naturally, more variously, 
than with any other lady of his friends; and Mrs. Jacks, 
through the Unimpeachable correctness of her exterior, almost 
allowed it to be suspected that she found a special satisfaction 
in listening to him. Eustace was a frequent guest at the 
Jackses'; yet there could hardly be much in common between 
him and the lady's elderly husband, nor was he on terms of 
much intimacy with Arnold. Of course two such excellent 
persons, such models of decorum, such examples of the 
English ideal, masculine and feminine, would naturally see in 
each other the most desirable of acquaintances; it was an 
instance of social and personal fitness, which the propriety of 
our national manners renders as harmless as it is delightful. 
They talked of art, of literature, discovering an entire unanimity 
in their preferences, which made for the safely conventional. 
They chatted of common acquaintances, i^eeing that the 
people they liked were undoubtedly the very nicest people in 
their circle, and avoiding in the suavest manner any severity 
regarding those they could not approve. When Eustace 
apologised for touching on a professional subject (he had just 
been called to the Bar), Mrs. Jacks declared that nothing 
could interest her more. If he ventured a jest, she smiled 
with surpassing sweetness, and was all but moved to laugh. 
"They, at all events, spent a most agreeable evenirvg. 

I Not so Mrs. Hannaford, who, just \jefcTG &to\w, \ia&. 



126 1f!ME CROWN OF LIFE 

received a letter, which at once she destroyed. The missive 
ran thus : — 

"Dear Mrs. Hannaford, — I am distressed to hear that 
you suffer so in health. Consult your brother ; you will find 
that the only thing to do you good will be a complete change 
of climate and of habits. You know how often I have urged 
this ; if you had listened to me, you would by now have been 
both healthy and happy — yes, happy. Is it too late? Don't 
you value your life? And don't you care at all for the 
happiness of mine? Meet me to-morrow, I beg, at the 
Museum, about eleven o'clock, and let us talk it all over once 
more. Do be sensible ; don't ¥n:eck your life out of respect 
for social superstitions. The thing once over, who thinks the 
worse of you ? Not a living creature for whom you need care. 
You have suffered for years ; put an end to it ; the remedy is 
in your hands. — Ever yours, D. O." 




CHAPTER XVI 



1 



FEW days after her return, Irene left home in the 
morning to make an unceremonious call. She was 

en to Great Portland Street, and alighted before a shop, 

which bore the number of the house she sought. Having 
found the private entrance — a door that stood wide open — 
and after ringing once or twice without drawing anyone's 
attention, she began to ascend the uncarpeted stairs. At that 
moment there came down a young woman humming an air ; 
a cheery-faced, solidly-built damsel, dressed with attention to 
broad effect in colours which were then — or recently had 
been — known as "Eesthetic," With some diffidence, for the 
encounter was not of a kind common in her experience, Irene 
asked this person for a direction to the rooms occupied by 
Miss Hannaford, 

"Oh, she's my chum," was the genial reply. "Top floor, 
front. You'll find her there." 

With thanks the visitor passed on, but had not climbed 
half a dozen steps when the clear sounding voice caused her 
to stop. 

" Beg your pardon and all that kind of thing, but would you 
mind telling her that Tomkins is huffy? I forgot to mention it 
before I came out. Thanks, awfully." 

Puzzled, if not disconcerted. Miss Derwent reached the 
top floor and knocked. A voice she recognised bade her 
enter. She found herself in a bare-floored room, furnished 
with a table, a chair or two, and a divan, on the walls a 
strange exhibition of designs in glaring colours which seemed 
to be studies for street posters. At the table, bending over a 
drawing-board, sat Olga Hannaford, her careless costume and 
the disorder of her hair suggesting that she had only just got 
up. She recognised her visitor with some embarrassment. 

" Irene — I'm so glad — I really am ashamed — wc keep such 

KITS here — please don't mind ! " 



laS 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 



"Not I, indeed! What is there to mind? I spoki 
someone downstairs who gave me a message for you. I 
to say thatTomkins was huffy. Do you understand?" 

Olga bit her hp in vexation, and to restrain a laugh. 

"No, that's too bad! But just like her. That was the 
girl I live with — Miss Bonnicastle. She's very nice really — 
not a bit of harm in her ; but she will play these silly practical 
jokes," 

" Ah, it was a joke ? " said Irene, not altogether pleased wil 
Miss BonnicasLle's faceliousnesa. But the next moment, goi 
humour coming to her help, she broke into merriment- 

" That's what she does," said Olga, pointing to the walls. 
" She's awfully clever really, and she'll make a great success 
with that sort of thing before long, I'm sure. Look at that 
advertisement of Honey's Castor Oii. Isn't the child's face 
splendid?" 

"Very clever indeed," assented Irene, and laughed ag: 
her cousin joining in her mirth. Five minutes ago she 
felt anything but hilarious; the impulse to gaiety came shei 
knew not how, and she indulged it with a sense of relief. 

" Are you doing the same sort of thing, Olga?" 

"Wish 1 could. I've a little work for a new fashion paper; 
have to fill in the heads and arms, and so on. It isn't hi| ' 
art, you know, but they pay me." 

" Why in the world do yon do it ? JVfij- do you live in 
place like this ? " 

■'Oh, I like the Ufe; on the whole. It's freedom 
society nonsense — I beg your pardon, Irene " — 

"Please don't. I hope I'm not much in the way of socii 
nonsense. Sit down ; I want to talk. When did you si 
your mother?" 

"Not for a long time," answered Olga, her countenancC- 
falling. "I sent her the new address when I came here, " 
she hasn't been yet." 

"Why don't you go to her?" 

" No ! I've broken with that world, I can't make calls 
Bryanston Square — or anywhere else. That's all over. 

" Nonsense ! " 

" It isn't nonsense ! " exclaimed Olga, flushing angril] 
"Why do you come to interfere with me? What right ' 
you, Irene? I'm old enough to live as I please. I doi 

7e Co criticise your life ! " 



4 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



129 



Irene was startled into silence for a moment. She met her 
cousin's look, and so gravely, so kindly, that Olga turned 
away in shame. 

" You and I used to be friends, and to have confidence in 
each other," resumed Irene. "Why can't that come over 
again? Couldn't you tell me what it all means, dear?" 

The other shook her head, keeping her eyes averted. 

" My first reason for coming," Irene pursued, " was to talk 
to yoii about your mother. Do you know that she is very 
far from well ? My father speaks very seriously of her state 
of health. Something is weighing on her mind, as anyone 
can see, and we think it can only be you — your strange life, 
and your neglect of her." 

Olga shook her head. 

" You're mistaken, I know you are." 

"You know? Then can you tell us how to be of use to 
her? To speak plainly, my father fears the worst, if something 
isn't done." 

With elbow on knee, and chin in hand, Olga sat brooding. 
She had a dishevelled, wild appearance ; her cheeks were 
hollow, her eyes and lips expressed a reckless mood. 

" It is not on my account," she let fall, abstractedly. 

"Can you help her, Olga?" 

" No one can help her," was the reply^in the same dreamy 
tone. 

Then followed a long silence. Irene gazed at one of the 
flaring grotesques on the wall, but did not see it. 

"May I ask you a question about your own affairs?" she 
said at length, very gently, " It isn't for curiosity. I have a 
deeper interest." 

" Of course you may ask, Irene. I'm behaving badly to you, 
but I don't mean it I'm miserable^ that's what it comes to." 

" I can see that, dear. Am I right in thinking that your 
engagement has been broken off? " 

"I'll tell you; you shall know the whole truth, It isn't 
broken ; yet I'm sure it'll never come to anything. I don't 
think I want it to. He behaves so strangely. You know we 
were to have been married after the twelvemonth, with mother's 
consent. When the time drew near, I saw he didn't wish it. 
He said, that after all he was afraid it would be a miserable 
I narriiige for me. The trouble is, he has no cha.tact.e.t, wa 

He cares for me, a. great dea\j and \.WCi''sasX"'f»)\iR. I 




130 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



won't marry me. He'il never do anything — in art, I mean. 
We should have to live on mother's money, and he doesn't 
like that. If we had been married straight away, as I wanted, 
two years ago, it would have been all right. It's too late now.'^ 

" And this, you feel, is ruining your life f " 

" I'm troubled about it, but more on his account than mint 
I'll tell you, Irene, I want to break off, for good and all, . 
" n afraid. It's a hard thing to do." 

"Now I understand you. Do you think" — Irene add« 
in another tone — " that it's well to be what they call in Ion 
ivith the man one marries ? " 

"Think? Of course I do ! " 

" Many people doubt it. We are told that French marriag 
are oftener happier than English, because it is arranged witij 
a practical view, by experienced people." 

"It depends," replied Olga, with a half-disdainful smile, 
" what one calls happiness. I, for one, don't want a respectable, 
plodding, money-saving married life. I'm not fit for it. Of 
course some people are." 

"Then, you could never bring yourself to marry a man y 
merely liked — in a friendly way?" 

*' I think it horrible, hideous ! " was the excited repl j 
" And yet " — her voice dropped—" it may not be so for soxtt 
Tomen. I judge only by myself." 

"I suspect, Oiga, that some people are never in love 
never could be in that state." 

" I daresay, poor things I " 

Irene, though much in earnest, was moved to laugh. 

" After all, you know," she said, "they have less worry." 

" Of course they have, and live more useful lives, if it o 
to that." 

"A useful Ufc isn't to he despised, you know." 

Olga looked at her cousin ; so fixedly that Irene had t 
turn away, and in a moment spoke as though changing t 
subject. 

"Have you heard that Mr. Otway is coming to Engia 
again ? " 

" What ! " cried Olga, with sudden astonishment, 
are thinking of Aim—of Piers Otway ? " 

Irene became the colour of the rose : her eyes flashed wid 
annoyance. 
"How ej^tra ordinary you ate, Ol^a'. As if one couldo; 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 131 

mention anyone without that sort of meaning! I spoke of 
Mr. Otway by pure accident. He had nothing whatever to 
do with what I was saying before." 

Olga sank into duhiess again, murmuring, " I beg your 
pardon." When a minute had elapsed in silence, she added, 
without looking up, " He was dreadfully in love with you, 
poor fellow. 1 supfwse he has got over it," 

An uncertain movement, a wandering look, and Miss 
Derwent rose. She stood before one of the rough-washed 
posters, seeming to admire it; Olga eyed her askance, with 
curiosity. 

" I know only one thing," Irene exclaimed abruptly, without 
turning. " It's better not to think too much about all that." 

" How can one think too much of it ? " said the other. 

" Very easily, I'm afraid," rejoined the other, her eyes still 
on the picture. 

" It's the only thing in life ivor/^ thinking about ! " 

" Vou astonish me. We'll agree to differ.^ — Olga dear, 
come and see us in the old way. Come and dine this evening ; 
we shall be alone." 

But the unkempt girl was not to be persuaded, and Irene 
presently took her leave. The conversation had perturbed 
her ; she went away in a very unwonted frame of mind, beset 
with troublesome fancies and misgivings. Olga's state seemed 
to her thoroughly unwholesome, to be regarded as a warning ; 
it was evidently contagious ; it affected the imagination with 
morbid allurement. Morbid, surely; Irene would not see it 
in any other light. She feit the need of protecting herself 
against thoughts which had never until now given her a 
moment's uneasiness. Happily she was going to lunch with 
her friend Mrs. Borisoff, anything but a sentimental person. 
She began to discern a possibility of taking Helen BorisofT 
into her confidence. With someone she fnus/ talk freely; 
Olga would only harm her; in Helen she might find the tonic 
of sound sense which her mood demanded. \ 

Olga Hannaford, meanwhile, finished her toilet, and, having 
had no breakfast, went out a Uttle after midday to the restaurant 
in Oxford Street where she often lunched. Her walking-dress 
showed something of the influence of Miss Bonnicastle; it 
■as more picturesque, more likely to draw the eye, than her 
Ktume of former days. She walked, loo, w\\.\\ atv iis Q^\■^i«I^^l 
aachmorked her spiritual progress. NVorhen ^anoaias.^^ 



I 



13a THE CROWN OF LIFE 

and looked away with a toss of the head — or its more poll 
equivalent. Men observed her with a smile of interest; 
fine girl," was their comment, or something to that effect. 

Strolling westward after her meal, intending to make 
circuit by way of Edgware Road, she was near the Marble 
Arch when a man who had caught sight of her from ihe top 
of an omnibus alighted and hastened in her direction. At 
the sound of his voice, Olga paused, smiling, and gave him 
her hand with friendliness. He was an Italian, his name 
Florio; they had met several times at a house which she 
visited with Miss Bonnicastle. Mr. Florio had a noticeable 
visage, very dark of tone, eyes which at one time seemed to 
glow with noble emotion, and at another betrayed excessive 
shrewdness ; heavy eyebrows and long black lashes ; a nose of 
classical perfection ; large mouth with thick and very red fips. 
He was dressed in approved English fashion, as a man of 
leisure, wore a massive watchguard across his buff summer 
waistcoat, and carried a silver-headed cane. 

" You are taking a little walk," he said, with a very slight 
foreign accent. " If you will let me walk with you a little way 
I shall be honoured. The Park ? A delightful day for the 
Park ! Let us walk over the grass, as we may do in this free 
country. I have something to tell you. Miss Hannaford." 

"That's nice of you, Mr. Florio. So few people tell one 
anything one doesn't know; but yours is sure to be real 
news." 

' It is — I assure you it is. But, first of all, I was thinking 
on the 'bus — I often ride on the 'bus, it gives one ideas — I was 
thinking what a pity they do not use the back of the 'bus 
driver to display advertisements. It is a loss of space. Those 
men are so beautifully broad, and one looks at their backs, 
and there is nothing, nothing to see but an ugly coat. I shall 
mention my litfle scheme to a friend of mine, a very practical 
man." 

Olga laughed merrily. 

" Oh, you are too clever, Mr, Florio ! " 

" Oh, I have my little ideas. Do you know, I' 
come back from Italy." 

" I envy you — I mean, I envy you for having been there." 

"Ah, that is your mistake, dear Miss Hannaford ! That 
the mistake of the romantic English young lady. Italy ? Y( 
there is a blue sky — not always, \e,s, \.We wt tuuia 



■^ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 133 

interest, if one is educated. And, there is misery, misery ! 
Italy is a poor country, poor, poor, poor, poor." He intoned 
the words as if speaking his own langaage. " And poverty is 
the worst thing in the world. You make an illusion for yourself, 
Miss Hannaford. For a holiday when one's rich, yes, Italy 
is not bad — though there is fever, and there are thieves — oh, 
thieves ! Of course ! The man who is poor will steal — ecco 1 
It amuses me, when the English talk of Italy." 

" But you are proud of — of your memories ? " 

" Memories I " Mr, Florio laughed a whole melody. " One 
is not proud of former riches when one has become a beggar. 
It is you, the English, who can be proud of the past, because 
you can be proud of the present. You have grown free, free, 
free ! Rich, rich, rich, ah I " 

Olga laughed. 

" I am sorry to say that I have not grown rich." 

He bent his gaze upon her, and it glowed with tender 
amorousness. 

" You remind me — I have something to tell you. In Italy, 
not everybody is quite poor. For example, my grandfather, 
at Bologna. I have made a visit to my grandfather. He 
likes me; he admires me because I have intelligence. He 
will not live very long, that poor grandfather." 

Olga glanced at him, and met the queer calculating 
melancholy of his fine eyes. 

" Miss Hannaford, if some day I am rich, I shall of course 
live in England. In what other country can one live ? I shall 
have a house in the West End; I shall have a carriage; I 
shall nationalise — you say naturalise? — myself, and be an 
Enghshman, not a beggarly Italian. And that will not be 
long. The poor old grandfather is weak, weak; he decays, 
he loses his mind ; but he has made his testament, oh yes ! " 

The girl's look wandered about the grassy space, she was 
uneasy. 

"Shall we turn and walk back, Mr. Florio?" 

" If you wish, but slowly, slowly. I am so happy to have 
met you. Your company is a delight Co me, Miss Hannaford. 
Can we not meet more often ? " 

" I am always glad to see you," she answered nervously. 

" Good ! — A thought occurs to me." He pointed to the 
>iroD fence they were approaching. " Is not that a waste ? 
■Why does not the public authority — "whal do -jom c'liWO. — 



w 



I 



134 THE CROWN OF LII'E ■ 

make money of Ihese railings? Imagine! One attaches 
advertisements to the rail, metal plates, of course artistically 
designed, not to spoil the Park. They might swing in the 
wind as it blows, and perhaps little bells might ring, to attract 
attention, A good idea, is it not?" 

"A splendid idea," Olga answered, with a laugh. 

"Ah I England is a great country I But, Miss Hannaford, 
there is one thing in which the Italian is not inferior to the 
Englishman. May I say what that is?" 

"There are many things, I am sure"— 

" But there is one thing — that is Love ! " 

Olga walked on, head bent, and Florio enveloped her i 
his gaze. 

"To-day I say no more. Miss Hannaford. I had some- 
thing to tell you, and I have told it. When I have something 
more to tell we shall meet— oh, I am sure we shall meet" 

"You are staying in England for some time?" said Olga^ 
as if in ordinary conversation, 

" For a little time ; I come, I go. I have, you know, my 
affairs, my business. — How is your friend, the admirable artis^ 
the charming Miss Bonnicastle?" 

" Oh, very well, always well." 

"Yes, the English ladies they have wonderful health — J 
admire them ; but there is one I admire most of all." 

A few remarks more, of like tenor, and they drew 1 
again to the Marble Arch. With bows and compliments and 
significant looks, Mr. Florio walked briskly away in search oi 
tin omnibus. 

Olga, her eyes cast down as she turned homeward, was not 
aware that someone who had held her in sight for a long time 
grew gradually near, until he stepped to her side. It was Mr- 
Kite. He looked at her with a melancholy smile on his long, 
lank face, and, when at length the gir! saw him, took off his 
shabby hat respectfully. Olga nodded and walked on without] 
speaking, Kite accompanying her. 



CHAPTER XVII 

OLGA was the first to break silence. 
"You ought to take your boots to be mended," she 
said gently. " If it rains, you'll get wet feet, and you know 
what that means." 

"You're very kind to think of it ; I will." 

" You can pay for them, I hope ? " 

" Pay ? Oh yes, yes ! a trifle such as that. — Have you had a 
long walk ? " 

" I met a friend. I may as well tell you ; it was the Italian, 
Mr. Florio." 

"I saw you together," said Kite absently, but not resent- 
fully. " I half thought of coming up to be introduced to him. 
But Fm rather shabby, I feared you mightn't like it." 

" It wouldn't have mattered a bit, so far as I'm concerned," 
replied Olga good-naturedly. " But he isn't the kind of man 
you'd care for. If he had been, I should have got you to meet 
him before now." 

"You like him?" 

" Yes, I rather like him. But it's nothing more than that ; 
don't imagine it — Oh, I had a call from my cousin Irene this 
morning. We don't quite get on together ; she's getting very 
worldly. Her idea is that one ought to marry cold-bloodedly, 
just for social advantage, and that kind of thing. No doubt 
she's going to do it, and then we shall never see each other 
again, never! — She tells me that Piers Otway is coming to 
England again." 

"Oh, now I should like to know him^ I really should!" 
exclaimed Kite, with a mild vivacity. 

" So you shall, if he stays in London. Perhaps you would 
suit eadi other." 

"Fm sure, because you like him so much." 

" Do I ? " asked Olga doubtfully. " Yes, perhaps so. If he 
hasn't changed iot the worse. But itfW be ia.V\\ei \rcv\a&Ci^>&. 

135 



^ft36 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



I 



he talks about nothing but Irene still. Oh, that's impossible, 
Five years; yes, that's impossible." 

" One should think the better of him, in a way," ventun 
Kite. 

" Oh, in a way. But when a thing of that sort is hopeless, 
I'm afraid Irene looks down upon him, just because — you 
know. But he's better than most of the men she'll meet in 
her drawing-rooms, that's certain. Shall I ask him to come taj 
my place P" 

" Do. And I hope he'll stay m England, and that you'll si 
a good deal of him." 

" Pray, why ? " 

" Because that's the right kind of acquaintance for you, he") 
do you good." 

Olga laughed a little, and said, with compassionat 
kindness ; 

" You an queer 1 " 

"I meant nothing unpleasant, Olga," was the apologetid 
rejoinder. 

" Of course you didn't. Have you had dinner yet ? " 

"Dmner? Oh yes — of course, long ago!" 

"I know what that means." 

" 'Sh 1 'Sh ! May I come home and talk a Uttle ? " 

Dinner, it might be feared, was no immutable feature of Mr. 
Kite's day. He had a starved aspect; his long limbs were 
appallingly meagre ; as he strode along, his clothing, thin and 
disreputable, flapped about him. But his countenance showed 
nothing whatever of sourness, or of grim endurance. Nor did 
he appear to be in a feeble state of health ; for all his emacia- 
tion, his step was firm and he held himself tolerably upright. 
One thing was obvious, that at Olga's side he forgot Ws ills. 
Each time he glanced at her, a strange beautiful smiie passed 
like a light over his hard features, a smile of infinite melancholy, 
yet of infinite tenderness. The voice in which he addressed 
her was invariably softened to express something more than 
homage. 

They had the habit of walking side by side, and could keep 
silence without any feeling of restraint. Kite now and then 
uttered some word or ejaculation, to which Olga paid no heed ; 
it was only his way, the trick of a man who lived much alone, 
and who conversed with visions. 

On ascending to the room in Great Portland Street, thi 



1 



1 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 137 

found Miss Bonnicastle hard at work on a design of consider- 
able size, which hung against the wall. This young lady, for 
all her sportiveness, was never tempted to jest at the expense 
of Mr, Kite ; removing a. charcoal holder from her mouth, she 
nodded pleasantly, and stood aside lo allow the melancholy 
man a view of her work, 

" Astonishing vigour ! " said Kite, in his soft, sincere voice. 
" How I envy you 1 " 

Miss Bonnicastle laughed with self-depreciation. She, no 
less than Olga Hannaford, credited Kite with wonderful 
artistic powers; in their view, only his constitutional defect 
of energy, his incorrigible dreaminess, stood between him and 
great achievement. The evidence in support of their faith was 
slight enough ; a few sketches, a hint in crayon, or a wash in 
water-colour, were all he had to show ; but Kite belonged to 
that strange order of men who, seemingly without effort or 
advantage of any kind, awaken the interest and gain the con- 
fidence of certain women. Even Mrs. Hannaford, though a 
mother's reasons set her against him, had felt this seductive 
quality in Olga's lover, and liked though she could not approve 
of him. Powers of fascination in a man very often go together 
with lax principle, if not with active rascality; Kite was an 
instance to the contrary. He had a quixotic sensitiveness, a 
morbid instinct of honour. If it is true that virile force, prefer- 
ably with a touch of the brutal, has a high place in the natural 
woman's heart, none the less does an ideal of male purity, of 
the masculine subdued to gentle virtues, make strong appeal 
to the imagination in her sex. To the everyday man. Kite 
seemed a mere pale grotesque, a creature of flabby foolishness. 
But Olga Hannaford was not the only girl who had dreamed 
of devotijig her life to him. If she could believe his assurance 
(and she all but did believe it), for her alone had he felt any- 
thing worthy to be called love, to her alone had he spoken 
words of tenderness. The high-tide of her passion had long 
since ebbed ; yet she knew that Kite still had power over her, 
power irresistible, if he chose to exercise it, and the strange 
fact that he would not, that, still loving her, he did not seem 
to be jealous for her love in return, often moved her to 
bitterness. 

She knew his story. He was the natural son of a spend- 
thrift aristocrat, who, after educating him decently, had died 
Bu left a will which seemed to assuie lS.vte a wa!i»^aci\v!iS."wv- 



r 
I 



138 THE CROWN OF LIFE H 

dependence. Unfortunately, the will dealt, for the most part, 
with property no longer in existence. Kite's income was lo be 
paid by one of the deceased's relatives, who, instead of bene- 
fiting largely, found that he came in for a mere pittance ; and 
the proportion of that pittance due to the illegitimate son was 
exactly forty-five pounds, four shillings, and fourpence per 
annum. It was paid; it kept Kite alive; also, no doubt, it 
kept him from doing what he might have done, in art or any- 
thing else. On quarterly pay-day the dreamer always spent 
two or three pounds on gifts lo those of his friends who were 
least able to make practical return. To Olga, of course, he had 
offered lordly presents, until the day when she firmly refused 
to take anything more from him. When his purse was empty 
he earned something by journeyman work in the studio of a 
portrait painter, a keen man of business, who gave shillings tt^ 
this assistant instead of the sovereigns that another would hanjB 
asked for the same labour. j^ 

As usual when he came here. Kite settled himself in a chailH 
stretched out his legs, let his arms depend, and so watched the 
two girls at work. There was not much conversation ; Kite 
never began it. Miss Bonnicastle hummed, or whistled, or 
sang, generally the refrains of the music-hall ; if work gave her 
trouble she swore vigorously — in German, a language with 
which she was well acquainted ; and at the sound of her male- 
dictions, though he did not understand them, Kile always 
threw his head back with a silent laugh. Olga naturally hi 
most of his attention; he often fixed his eyes upon her t 
five minutes at a time, and Olga, being used to this, was i 
at all disturbed by it, 

VVhen five o'clock came. Miss Bonnicastle flung up her am 
and yawned. 

" Let's have some blooming tea ! " she exclaimed, 
right, I'll get it. I've just about ten times the muscle and g 
of you two put together ; it's only right I should do the slavey.^ 

Kite rose, and reached his hat. Whereupon, with sotr 
pressure of her not very delicate hands. Miss Bonnicasth 
forced him back into his chair. J 

"Sit still. Do as I tell you. What's the good of you I 
you can't help us to drink tea? " 1 

And Kite yielded, as always, wishing he could sit there fl 
ever, 

Three weeks Jater, on an afVmnoon of rain, the trio n 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



139 



again together in the same way. Someone knocked, and a 
charwoman at work on the premises handed in a letter for 
Miss Hannaford. 
^^_" I know who this is from," said Olga, looking up at Kite. 
^^b' And I can guess," he returned, leaning forward with a look 
^^^iterest. 

^^^%he read the note — only a few lines, and handed it to her 
^Triend, remarking 1 

" He'd better come to-morrow," 
" Who's that ? " asked Miss Bonnicastle. 
"Piers Otway." 

The poster artist glanced from one face to the other, with a 
smile. There had heen much talk lately of Otway, who was 
about to begin business in London ; his partner, Andr^ 
Moncharmont, remaining 'at Odessa. Olga had heard from 
her mother that Piers wished to see her, and had allowed Mrs. 
Hannaford to give him her address ; he now wrote asking if 
he might call. 

"I'll go and send him a wire," she said. "There isn't 
lime to write. To-morrow's Sunday." 

When Olga had run out. Kite, as if examining a poster on 
the wall, turned his back to Miss Bonnicastle. She, after a 
glance or two in his direction, addressed him by name, and 
the man looked round. 

"You don't mind if I speak plainly?" 
"Of course I don't," he replied, his features distorted, 
rather than graced, by a smile. 

The girl approached him, arms akimbo, but, by virtue of a 
frank look, suggesting more than usual of womanhood. 

"You've got to be either one thing or the other. She 
doesn't care that" — a snap of the fingers— "for this man 
Otway, and she knows he doesn't care for her. But she's 
playing him against you, and you must expect more of it. 
You ought to make up your mind. It isn't fair to her." 

"Thank you," murmured Kite, reddening a little. "It's 
kind of you." 

" Well, I hope it is. But she'd be furious if she guessed I'd 

said such a thing. I only do it because it's for her good as 

much as yours. Things oughtn't to drag on, you know; it 

isn't fair to a girl like that." 

^K -Kite thrust his hands into his pockets, and drew himself uij 

^^BR full five feet eleven. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



I 



" I'll go away," he said. " I'll go and live in Paris for a bit." 

"That's foryeu lo decide. Of course if you feel like that 
; of my business, I don't pretend to understand _vo» ; 
I'm not quite sure I understand Aer. You're a queer couple. 
All 1 know is, it's gone on long enough, and it isn't fair to a 
girl like Olga. She isn't the sort that can doze through a 
comfortable engagement of ten or twelve years, and surely you 
know that." 

" I'll go away," said Kile again, nodding resolutely. 

He turned again to the poster, and Miss Bonnicastli 
resumed her work. Thus Olga found [hem when she c 
back. 

"I've asked him to come at three," she said. "You'll E 
out then, Bonnie. When you come in we'll put the kettle c 
and all have tea." She chanted it, to the old nursery turn 
" Of course you'll come as well"— she addressed K.ite^"saj3 
about four. It'll be jolly ! " 

So, on the following afternoon, Olga sat alone, in readines 
for her visitor. She had paid a little more attention than 
usual lo her appearance, but was perfectly self-possessed ; a 
meeting with Piers Otway had never yet quickened her pulse, 
and would not do so to-day. If anything, she suffered a little 
from low spirits, conscious of having played a rather dis- 
ingenuous part before Kite, and not exactly knowing to what 
purpose she had done so. It still rained ; it had been gloomy 
for several days. Looking at the heavy sky above the gloomy 
street, Olga had a sense of wasted life. She asked 
herself whether it would not have been better, on the decline 
of her love-fever, to go back into the so-called respectable 
world, share her mother's prosperity, make the most of her 
personal attractions, and marry as other girls did — if anyone ' 
invited her. She was doing no good ; all the experience to be 
had in a life of mild Bohemianism was already tasted, and 
found rather insipid. An artist she would never become; 
probably she would never even support herself. To imagine 
herself really dependent on her own efforts, was to sink into 
misery and fear. The time had come for a new step, s 
beginning, yet all possibilities looked so vague. 

A knock at the door. She opened, and saw Piers OtwayJ 

If they had been longing to meet, instead of scarcely e 
giving a thought to each other, they could not have clas^ 
Aands with more warmth. They gazed eagerly into i 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 141 

othei^s eyes, and seemed too much overcome for ordinary 
words of greeting. Then Olga saw that Otway looked nothing 
like so well as when on his visit to England some couple of 
yeajs ago. He, in turn, was surprised at the change in Olga's 
features ; the bloom of girlhood had vanished ; she was hand- 
some, striking, but might almost have passed for a married 
woman of thirty. 

"A queer place, isn't il?" she said, laughing, as Piers cast 
a glance round the room. 

" Is this your work ? " he asked, pointing to the posters. 
" No, no ! Mine isn't for exhibition. It hides itself — with 
the modesty of supreme excellence ! " 

Again they looked at each other ; Olga pointed to a chair, 
hersdf became seated, and explained the conditions of her hfe 
here. Bending forward, his hands folded between his knees, 
Otway listened with a face on which trouble began to reassert 
itself after the emotion of their meeting. 

I "So you have really begun business at last?" said Olga. 

^M " Ves. Rather hopefully, too." 

^B "You don't look hopeful, somehow." 

^K "Oh, that's nothing. Moncharmont has scraped together a 

^^^r capital, and as for me, well, a friend has come to nay help, 

■ 1 mustn't say who it is. Yes, things look promising enoi^h, 
for a start, Already I've seen an office in the City, which I 

I think I shall take, I shall decide to-morrow, and then — 

^K " What does that mean ? " 

^H "A common word in Russian. It means 'Fire away.'" 

^f " I must remember it," said Olga, laughing. " It'll make a 

change from English and French slang — Avos /" 

There was a silence longer than they wished, Olga broke 

it by asking abruptly : 
^^ " Have you seen my mother ? " 
^L " Not yet." 
^H "I'm afraid she's not well." 

^V " Then why do you keep away from her ? " said Piers, with 
^*^ood- humoured directness. "Is it really necessary for 

you to live here ? She would be much happier if you went 

back." 
I " I'm not sure of that." 

"But I am, from what she says in her letters, and I should 

tove thovght that yoa, too, would pteSei \X \o ^a\\fe" 



Ma 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



He glanced round the room. Olga looked vexed, and spdkt 
with a note of irony. 

" My tastes are unaccountable, I'm afraid. You, no doubt 
find it difficult to understand them. So does my cousin Ire 
You have heard that she is going to be married?" 

Piers, surprised ai her change of tone, regarded her fixedn 
until she reddened and her eyes fell. 

" Is the engagement announced, then ? " 

" I should think so ; but I'm not much in the way of hearii 
fashionable gossip." 

Still Piers regarded her ; still her cheeks kept their coloifl 
and her eyes refused to meet his. 

" I see I have offended you," he said quietly. " 1 
sorry. Of course I went too far in speaking like that of t 
life you have chosen. I had no right " — 

" Nonsense ! If you mustn't tell me what you ihink, wbc 
may?" 

Again the change was so sudden, this time from coldness td" 
smiling familiarity, that Piers felt embarrassed. 

"The fact is," Olga pursued, with a careless air, "I don't 
think I shall go on with this much longer. If you said what 
you have in your mind, that I should never be any good as an 
artist, you would be quite right. I haven't had the prop« 
training ; it'll all come to nothing. And — talking of engage 
ments — I daresay you know that mine is broken off ? " 

" No, I didn't know that." 

"It is. Mr. Kite and I are only friends now. He'll lot _ 
in presently, I think. I should lilfe you to meet him, if y« 
don't mind." 

"Of course I shall be very glad." 

"All this, you know," said Olga, with a laugh, "would I 
monstrously irregular in decent society, but decent society || 
often foolish, don't you think?" 

"To be sure it is," Piers answered genially, "and I r 
meant to find fault with your preference for a freer way of li 
It is only — you say I may speak freely — that I didn't like t 
think of your going through needless hardships." 

" You don't think, then, it has done me good ? " 

" I am not at all sure of that." 

Olga lay back in her chair, as if idly amused. 

" You see," she said, " how we have both changed. We a 
both much more positive, in diSetewV 4wccX\w[\s, 'I'o be stn 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 143 

it makes conversation more interesting. But the change is 
greatest in me. You always aimed at success in a respectable 
career." 

Otway looked puzzled, a little disconcerted. 

" Really, is that how I always struck you ? To me it*s new 
light on my own character." 

" How did you think of yourself, then ? " she asked, looking 
at him from beneath drooping lids. 

" I hardly know ; I have thought less on that subject than 
on most" 

Again there came a silence, long enough to be embarrassing. 
Then Olga took up a sketch that was lying on the table, and 
held it to her visitor. 

" Don't you think that good ? It's one of Miss Bonnicastle's. 
Let us talk about her ; she'll be here directly. We don't seem 
to get on, talking about ourselves." 

The sketch showed an elephant sitting upright, imbibing 
with gusto from a bottle of some much - advertised tonic. 
Piers broke into a laugh. Other sketches were exhibited, and 
thus they passed the time until Miss Bonnicastle and Kite 
arrived together. 



k 



CHAPTER XVIII 

STRANGERS with whom Piers Otway had business at thi^ 
time saw in him a young man of considerable energy, 
though rather nervous and impulsive, capable in all that 
concerned his special interests, not over-sanguine, inclined 
to brevity of speech, and scrupulously courteous in a cold 
way. He seldom sniiled; his clean-cut, intelligent features 
expressed tension of the whole man, ceaseless strain and 
effort without that joy of combat which compensates physical 
expenditure. He looked in fair, not robust, health; a 
shadowed pallor of complexion was natural to him, and 
made noticeable the very fine texture of his skin, which 
quickly betrayed in delicate flushes any strong feeling. He 
shook hands with a short, firm grip which argued more 
muscle than one might have supposed in him. His walk was 
rapid ; his bearing upright ; his glance direct, with something 
of apprehensive pride. The observant surmised a force more 
or less at odds with the facts of life. Shrewd men of 
merce at once perceived his qualities, but reserved tht 
judgment as to his chances ; he was not, in any case, 
together of iheir world, however well he might have studi 
its principles and inured himself to its practice. 

He took rooms in Guilford Street, Indifferent to locality 
asking nothing more than decency in his immediate surround- 
ings, he fell by accident on the better kind of lodging-house, 
and was at once what is called comfortable ; his landlady 
behaved to him with a peculiar respectfulness, often noticeable 
in the uneducated who had relations with Otway, and explained 
perhaps by his quiet air of authority. To those who served 
him, no man was more considerate, but he never bi 
familiar with them ; without a trace of pretentiousness 
demeanour, he was viewed by such persons as one sensil 
above them, with some solid right to rule. 
in the selection of his place of business, he of coui 



9 



^^exercbi 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 145 

exercbed more care, but here, too, luck favoured him. A 
Russian merchant moving into more spacious quarters ceded 
to him a small office in Fenchurch Street, with furniture 
which he purchased at a very reasonahle price. To begin 
with, he hired only a lad; it would be seen in a month or 
so whether he had need of more assistance. If business grew, 
he was ready to take upon himself a double share, for the 
greater his occupation the less his time for brooding. Labour 
was what he asked, steady, dogged toil ; and his only regret 
was that he could not work with his hands in the open air, at 
some day-long employment followed by hunger and weariness 
and dreamless sleep. 

The partner whose name he did not wish to mention was 
John Jacks. Very soon after learning the result to the young 
man of Jerome Otway's death (the knowledge came in an 
indirect way half a year later), Mr. Jacks wrote to Piers, a 
letter implying what he knew, and made offer of a certain 
capital towards the proposed business. Piers did not at once 
accept the offer, for difficulties had arisen on the side of his 
friend Moncharmont, who, on Otway's announcement of 
inability to carry out the scheme they had formed together, 
turned in another direction. A year passed; John Jacks 
again wrote ; and, Moncharmont's other projects having 
come to nothing, the friends decided at length to revert to 
their origmal plan, with the difference that a third partner- 
supplied capital equal to that which Moncharmont himself put 
into the venture. The arrangement was strictly business-hke ; 
John Jacks, for all his kindliness, had no belief in anything 
else where money was concerned, and Piers Olway would not 
have listened to any other sort of suggestion. Piers put into 
the affair only his brains, his vigour, and his experience ; he 
was to reap no reward but that fairly resulting from the 
exercise of these qualities. 

Only a day or two before leaving Odessa he received a 
letter from Mrs. Hannaford, in which she hinted that 
Irene DerwenI was likely to marry. On reaching London, 
he found at the hotel her answer to his reply; she now 
named Miss Derwenl's wooer, and spoke as if the marriage 
were practically a settled thing. This turned to an 
ordeal for Piers what would otherwise have been a 
pleasure, his call upon John Jacks. He had to dine at 
Queer's Gate; he had to converse with ATnoVi "^a.-^-, m\\ 



w 



146 THE CROWN OF LIFE 



for the first time in his life he knew the meaning of personaT 
jealousy. 

The sight of Irene's successful lover made active in him 
what had for years been only a latent passion. All at once it 
seemed impossible that he should have lost what hitherto he 
had scarcely ever felt it possible to win. An unconsciously 
reared edifice of hope collapsed about him, laid waste his hfe, 
left him standing in desolate revolt against fate. Arnold Jacks 
was the embodiment of a cmel destiny ; Piers regarded him, 
not so much with hate, as with a certain bitter indignation. 
He had no desire to disparage the man, to caricature his 
assailable points; rather, in undiminished worship of Irene, 
he exaggerated the qualities which had won her, the power to 
which her gallant pride had yielded. These qualities, that 
power, were so unlike anything in himself, that they gave 
boundless scope to a jealous imagination. He knew so Dttle 
of the man, of his pursuits, his society, his prospects or 
ambitions. But he could not imagine that Irene's love 
would be given to any man of ordinary type ; there must be 
nobility in John Jacks' son, and indeed, knowing the fathi 
one could readily believe it Piers suffered a cruel sense 
weakness, of littleness, by comparison. 

And Arnold behaved so well to htm, with such fri 
graceful courtesy ; to withhold the becoming return was 
feel oneself a shrinking creature, basely 

It was at Mrs. Hannaford's suggestion that he asked to 
allowed Co call on Olga. A few days later, having again 
exchanged letters with Irene's aunt, he sat writing in the 

I office after business hours, his door and that of the ante- 
room both open. Footsteps on the staircase had become 
infrequent since the main exodus of clerks; he listened 
whenever there was a sound, and looked towards the 
entrance. There, at length, appeared a lady, Mrs. Hanniv- 
ford herself. Piers went forward, and greeted her without 
words, motioning her with his hand into the inner office; 
the outer door he latched. 
"So I have tracked you lo your lair!" exclaimed the' 
visitor, with a nervous laugh, as she sank in fatigue upon the 
chair he placed for her. " 1 looked for your name on the wall 
downstairs, foi^etting that you are Moncharmont & Co," 
"It is very, very kind of you to have taken all this 
trouble 



I 



^ 



i 



W H 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 147 

He saw in her face the signs of ill-hsalth for which he was 
prepared, and noticed with pain her tremulousness and 
shortness of breath after the stair-climbing. The friendship 
which had existed between them since his boyhood was true 
and deep as ever ; Piers Otway couldj as few men can, be the 
loyal friend of a woman. A reverent tenderness coloured his 
feeling towards Mrs. Hannaford ; it was something like what 
he would have felt for his mother had she now been living. 
He did not give much thought to her character or circum- 
stances; she had always been kind to him, and he in turn 
had always liked her: that was enough. Anything in her 
service that might fall within his power to do, he would do 
right gladly. 

" So you saw poor Olga ? " 

" Ves, and the friend she lives with — and Mr. Kite," 

"Ah! Mr, Kite!" The speaker's face brightened. "I 
have news about him ; it came this morning. He has gone 
to Paris, and means to stay there." 

" Indeed ! I heard no syllable of that the other day," 

"But it is true. And Olga's letter to me, in which she 
mentions it, gives hope that that is the end of their engage- 
ment. Naturally, the poor child won't say it in so many 
words, but it is to be read between the lines. What's more, 
she is willing to come for her holiday with me ! It has made 
me very happy ! — I told you I was going to Malvern ; my 
brother thinks that is most likely to do me good, Irene will 
go down with me, and stay a day or two, and then I hope 
to have Olga. It is delightful ! I hadn't dared to hope. 
Perhaps we shall really come together again, after this 
dreary time ! " 

Piers was listening, but with a look which had become 
uneasily preoccupied, 

" I am as glad, almost, as you can be," he said. " Malvern, 
I never was there." 

" So healthy, my brother says ! And Shakespeare's country, 
you know ; we shall go to Stratford, which I have never seen. 
J have a feeling that I really shall get better. Everything is 

ore hopeful." 

Piers recalled Olga's mysterious hints about her mother, 
lancing at the worn face, with its vivid eyes, he could easily 
snceive that this ill-health had its cause in some grave mental 
rouble. 



148 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

" Have you met your brother ? " she asked. 

"My brother? Oh no!" was the careless reply. Theoj 

1 a sudden thought, Piers added, "You don't keep up yoffl 

acquaintance with him, do you ? " 

"Oh — I havt seen him — now and then" — 

There was a singular hesitancy in her answer to the abrupt 
question. Piers, preoccupied as he was, could not but rem 
Mrs. Hannaford's constraint, almost confusion, 
struck him that Daniel had been borrowing money of her, 
and the thought aroused strong indignation. His own 
hundred and fifty pounds he had never recovered, for all 
Daniel's fine speeches, and notwithstanding the fact that he 
had taken suggestive care to let the borrower know his 
address in Russia. Rapidly he turned in his mind the 
question whether he ought not to let Mrs. Hannaford know_ 
of Daniel's untrustworthiness ; but before he could decid^ 
she launched into another subject. 

"So this is to be your place of business? Here you will 
sit day after day. If good wishes could help, how you would" 
flourish 1 Is it orthodox to pray for a friend's success in 
business ? " 

"Why not? Provided you add — so long as he is guilty of 
no rascality." ~ 

"That, >■<«< will never be." 

" Why, to tell you the truth, I shouldn't know how to g 
about it. Not everyone who wishes becomes a rascal i 
business. It's difficult enough for me to pursue commerce on 
the plain, honest track ; knavery demands an expertness 
altogether beyond me. Wherefore, let us give thanks for my 
honest stupidity ! " 

They chatted a while of these things. Then Piers, graspir^ 
his courage, uttered what was burning within him. 

"When is Miss Derwent to be married?" 

Mrs. Hannaford's eyes escaped his hard look. 
murmured that no date had yet been settled. 

" Tell me — I beg you will tell me — is her engagemei 
absolutely certain? " 

" I feel sure it is." 

" No ! I want more than that. Do you know that it is? "1 

"I can only say that her father believes it to be a c 
thing. No announcement has yet been made." 

"H'm ! Then it isn't settled at all." 



iow^_ 
id^l 

wil^l 
.uld^ 

y of 



» 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 149 

Piers sat stiffly upon his chair. I-Ie held an ivory 
paper-knife, which he Itept bending across his knee, and 
of a sudden the thing snapped in two. But he paid no 
attention, merely flinging the handle away. Mrs. Hannaford 
looked hira in the face ; he was deeply flushed ; his lips 
and his throat trembled like those of a child on the point 
of tears. 

" Don't ! Oh, don't take it so to heart ! It seems impossible 
— after all this time" — 

" Impossible or not, it is ! " he replied impetuously. " Mrs. 
Hannaford, you will do something for me. You will let me 
come down to Malvern, whilst she is with you, and see her— 
speak with her alone." 

She drew back, astonished. 

" Oh ! how can you think of it, Mr. Otway ? " 

"Why should I not?" he spoke in a low and soft voice, 
with vehemence. " Does she know all about me ? " 
Everything. It was not I who told her. There has 
been talk " — 

there has " — he smiled^" and I am glad of it. 
I wished her to know. Otherwise, 1 should have told her. 
Yes, I should have told her I It shocks you, Mrs. Hannaford? 
But try to understand what this means to me. It is the one 
thing I greatly desire in ail the world ; shall 1 be hindered by a 
petty consideration of etiquette ? A wild desire — you think. 
Well, the man sentenced to execution clings to life, clings to it 
with a terrible fierce desire; is it less real because utterly 
hopeless ? Perhaps I am behaving frantically ; I can't help 
myself. As that engagement is still doubtful — -you admit it 
to be doubtful — I shall speak before it is too late. Why not 
have done so before? Simply, I hadn't the courage. I 
suppose I was too young. It didn't mean so much to me as it 
does now. Something tells me to act like a man, before 
it is too late. I feel I can do it, I never could have, 
tin now." 

" But listen to me— do listen ! Think how extraordinary it 
'" seem to her. She has no suspicion of" — 

She has ! She knows ! I sent her, a year ago, a poem — 

ime verses of my writing, which told her." 

Mrs. Hannaford kept silence with a face of distress. 

there any harm," he pursued, " in asking you whether 
ever spoken of me lately^ — smce \.Va.\. UTfve''." 



r-' m 
150 THE CROWN OF LIFE ^M 

"She has," admitted the other reluctantly, "but not in a^| 
way to make one think " — ^H 

" No, no ! I expected nothing of the kind. She has^f 
mentioned me ; that is enough. I am not utterly espelled^H 
from her thoughts, as a creature outlawed by alt decent^f 
people " — ^H 

" Of course not. She is loo reasonable and kind," ^H 

"That she is !" exclaimed Piers, with a passionate delight 
on his visage and in his voice. " And she would rather I spoke 
to her — I feel she would ! She, with her fine intelligence and 
noble heart, she would think it dreadful that a man did 
not dare to approach her, just because of something not his 
fault, something that made him no bit the less a man, and 
capable of honour. I know that thought would shake her 

Pwith pity and indignation. So far I can read in her. What ! 
You think I know her too little? And the thought of her 
never out of my mind for these five years! I have got 
to know her better and better, as time went on. Every 
word she spoke at Ewell stayed in my memory, and by 
perpetual repetition has grown into my life. Every sentence 
has given me its full meaning. I didn't need to be near her, 
to study her. She was in my mind ; I heard her and saw her 
whenever I wished ; as I have grown older and more 
experienced in life, I have been better able to understand 
her. I used to think this was enough. I had — you know- 
that exalted sort of mood ; Dante's Beatrice, and all that !, 
It was enough for the time, seeing that I lived with it, and^ 
through it. But now — no I And there is no single reason whjB 
I should be ashamed to stand before her, and tell her that— 
what I feel," 

He checked himself, and gloomed for an instant, t 
continued in another tone ; 

"Yet that isn't true. There are reasons — I bel _ 
no man living could say that when speaking of such a 
woman as Irene DerT^'ent. I cannot face her without 
shame — the shame of every man who stands before a pure- 
hearted girl. We have to bear that, and to hide it as best_ 
we can." 

The listener bent upon him a wondering gaze, and seemei 
unable to avert it, till his look answered her, 

" You will give me this oppoitunily, Mrs. Hannafotd ? " 
added plea ditigJy. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



'Sr 



" I have no right whatever to refuse it. Besides, how could' 
' I, if I wished ? " 

" When shall I conic ? 1 must remember that 1 ami 
not free to wander ahout. If it could be a Sunday" — 

"I have forgotten something I ought to have told you already,^ 
said Mrs. Hannaford. " Whilst she was on her travels, Irena 
had an offer from someone else." 

Piers laughed. 

" Can that surprise one ? Should I wonder if I were told 
she had had fifty?" 

" Yes, but this was not of the ordinary kind. You know that 
Mr. Jacks is well acquainted with Trafford Romaine. And it 
was Trafford Romaine himself." 

The news did not fail of its impression. Piers smiled 
vaguely, and on the smile came a look of troubled pride. 

" Well, it is not astonishing, hut it gives me a better 
opinion of the man. I shall always feel a sort of sympathy 
when I come across his name. Why did you think I ought 
to know ? " 

" For a reason I feel to be rather foolish, now I con 
speak of it," replied Mrs. Hannaford. " But — 1 had a feeling 
that Irene is by nature rather ambitious ; and if, after such 
an experience as that, she so soon accepts a man who has 
done nothing particular, whose position is not brilliant"— 

" I understand. She must, you mean, be very strongly 
drawn to him. But then I needed no such proof of he 
feeling — if it is certain that she is going to marry him. Coult 
I imagine her marrying a man for any reason but one ? 
Surely you could not? " 

" No — no " — 

The denial had a certain lack of emphasis. Otway's eyei 
flashed. 

" You doubt ? You speak in that way of Irene Derwent ? * 

Gazing into Mrs. Hannaford's face, he saw rising tears. She 
I gave a little laugh, which did not disguise her emotion as sh« 
I answered him. 
1 " Oh, what an ideaUst it makes a mkn ! — don't talk of you 
I unwotthiness. If Bome women are good, it is because the 
I try hard to be what the best men think ihem. No, no, 
have no doubts of Irene. And that is why it really grieva 
me to see you still hoping. She would never have i 
SO far " — 




THE CROWN OF LIFE \ 

But there's the very question ! " cried Piers excitedly. 

Who knows how far she has gone ? It may be the merest 
conjecture on your part, and her father's. People are so 
ready to misunderstand a girl who respects herself enough to 
be free and frajik in her association with men. — Let me shame 
myself by making a confession. Five years ago, when I all 
but went mad about her, I was contemptible enough to think 
she had treated me cruelly," He gave a scornfullaugh, " You 
know what I mean. At Ewell, when I lived only for my^ 
books, and she drew me away from them. Conceited idiot !' 
And she so bravely honest, so simple and direct, so human l\ 
Was it Asr fault if I lost my head ? " 

" She certainly changed the whole course of your life," said 
Mrs. Hannaford thoughtfully. 

" True, she did. And to my vast advantage ! What should 
I have become? A clerkship at Whitehall — heaven defend 
us ! At best a learned pedant, in my case. She sent me out 
into the world, where there is always hope. She gave me 
health and sanity. Above all, she set before me an ideal 
which has never allowed me to fall hopelessly — never will let 
me become a contented brute ! If she never addresses another 
word to me, I shall owe her an infinite debt as long as I live. 
And I want her to hear that from my own lips, if only once." 

Mrs. Hannaford held out her hand impulsively. 

"Do what you feel you must, Vou make me feel very, 
strangely. I never knew what" — 

Her voice faltered. She rose, 

When she had left him, Piers sat for some time communing; 
with his thoughts. Then he went home to the simple meal he 
called dinner, and afterwards, as the evening was clear, walked; 
for a couple of hours away from the louder streets. Hisj 
resolve gave him a night of quiet rest. 



I 




A GAIN Irene \Yas going down into Cheshire, to visit llie 
■^~»- two old ladies, her relatives. It was arranged that she 
should accompany Mrs. Hannaford to Malvern, and spend a 
couple of days there. The travellers arrived on a Friday even- 
ing. Before leaving town Mrs. Hannaford had written to Piers 
Olway to give him the address of the house at Malvern in which 
rooms had been taken for them. 

On Saturday morning there was sunshine over the hills. 
Irene walked, and talked, but it was evident with thoughts 
elsewhere. \Vhen they sat down to rest and to enjoy the land- 
scape before them, the rich heart of England, with its names 
that echo in history and in song, Irene plucked at the grass 
beside her, and presently began to strip a stem, after the 
manner of children playing at a tell -fortune game. She* 
stripped it to the end ; her hands fell and she heaved a little 
sigh. From that moment she grew merry and talked without 
preoccupation. 

After lunch she wrote a short letter, and herself took it to 
the post. Mrs. Hannaford was lying on the sofa, with eyes 
closed, but not in sleep ; her forehead and lips betraying the 
restless thoughts which beset her now as always. On return- 
ing, Irene look a chair, as if to read ; but she gave only an 
absent glance at the paper in her hands, and smiled to herself 

musing. 

" I'm sure those thoughts are worth far more than a penny," 
fell from the lady on the couch, who had observed her for a 
moment, 

" I may as well tell you them," was the gently toned reply, 
as Irene bent forward. " I have just done something decisive," 
[rs. Hannaford raised herself, a sudden anxiety in her 
features ; she waited. 

You guess, aunt? Yes, that's it, I have written to MIt, 
Jacks." 



1 54 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



I 



" To— to— ? " 

"To answer an ultimatum. In the right way, I hope ; 
way, it's dotie." 

" You have accepted him ? " 

" Even so." 

Mrs. Hannaford tried to smite, but could not smooth i 
the uneasiness which had come into her look. She spoki 
few of the natural words, and in doing so looked at the clock. 

"There is something I have forgotten," she said, starting 
her feet hurriedly. "You reminded me of it — speaking of a 
letter ; I must send a telegram at once — indeed I 
no, I will go myself, dear, 1 had rather ! " 

She hastened away, leaving Irene in wonder. 

When they were together again, Mrs. Hannaford seemi 
ansious to atone for her brevity on the all-important subji 
She spoke with pleasure of her niece's decision ; thought it 
Yfise ; abounded in happy prophecy ; through the rest of the 
day she had a face which spoke relief, ail but contentment. 
The morning of Sunday saw her nervous. She made an 
excuse of the slightly clouded sky for lingering within doors ; 
she went often to the window and looked this way and that 
along the road, as if judging of weather, until Irene, when the 
church bells had ceased, grew impatient for the open air. 

"Yes, we will go," said her aunt. "I think we safel 
may." 

Each went to her room to make ready. At Mrs. Hann»- 
ford's door, just as she was about to come forth, there sounded 
a knock ; the servant announced that a gentleman had called 
to see her — Mr. Otway. Quivering, death-pale, she ran to the 
sitting-room. Irene had not yet reappeared, Piers Otway stood 
there alone. 

"You didn't get my telegram?" broke from her lips, in a 
hurried whisper, " Oh ! I feared it would be too late, and all 
is too late." 

"You mean " — 

" The engagement is announced." 

She had time to say no more. At that moment I: 
entered the room, dressed for walking. At first she did 
seem to recognise the visitor, then her face lighted up ; 
smiled, subdued the slight embarrassment which had succei 
to her perplexity, and stepped quickly forward, 

"Afr. Otway! You are staying here?" 



] 



iec^* 



he 



■ THE CROWN OF LIFE 155 

" A few hours only, I came down yesterday on business — 
which is finished." 

His voice was so steady, his bearing so self-possessed, that 
Irene found herself relieved from the immediate restraint of 
the situation. She could not quite understand his presence 
here ; there was a mystery, in which she saw that her aunt was 
involved ; the explanation might be forthcoming after their 
visitor's departure. For the moment, enough to remark that 
the sun was dispersing the clouds, and that all were ready to 
enjoy a walk. Mrs. Hannaford, glancing anxiously at Irene 
before she spoke, hoped that Mr. Otway would return with 
ihem to lunch; Irene added her voice to the invitation ; and 
Piers at once accepted. 

Talk suggested by the locality occupied them until they 
were away from the houses ; by that time Irene had thoroughly 
reassured herself, and was as tranquil in mind as in manner. 
Whatever the meaning of Piers Otway's presence, no difficulty 
could come about in the few hours he was to spend with them. 
Involuntarily she found herself listening to the rhythm of 
certain verses which she had received some months ago, and 
which she still knew by heart ; but nothing in the author's 
voice or look indicated a desire to remind her of that romantic 
passage in their acquaintance. If they were still to meet from 
time to lime — and why not ? — common sense must succeed to 
vain thoughts in the poet's mind. He was quite capable of the 
transition, she felt sure. His way of talking, the short and 
generally pointed sentences in which he spoke on whatever 
subject, betokened a habit of lucid reflection. Had it been 
permissible, she would have dwelt with curiosity on the problem 
of Piers Otway's life and thoughts; but that she resolutely 
ignored, strong in the irrevocable choice which she had made 
only yesterday. He was interesting, but not to her. She 
knew him on the surface, and cared to know no more. 

Business was a safe topic ; at the first noticeable pause, 
Irene led to it. 

Piers laughed with pleasure as he began to describe Andr^ 
Moncharmont. A man of the happiest vivacity, of the sweetest 
humour, irresistibly amusing, yet never ridiculous — entirely 
competent in business, yet with a soul as little mercantile as 
man's could be. Bom a French Swiss, he had Uved a good 
a Italy, and had all the charm of Italian manners ; but 

B whatever country, he made himseU al tome, OTii\i"j v\<vws. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



I 



of his sunny temper saw only the best in each nationality. 
His recreation was music, and he occasionally composed. 

"There is a song of MusseC's — you know it, perhaps — 
ig ' Quand on peril, par iriste occurrence '-^which he has 
set, to my mind, perfectly- I want him to publish it. If he- 
does I must let you see it." j 

Irene did not know the verses, and made no remark. 

" There are English men of business," pursued Otway, " who 
would smile with pity at Moncharmont. He is by no means 
their conception of the merchant. Yet the world would be a 
vastly better place if its business were often in the hands of 
such men. He will never make a large fortune, no j but he 
will never fall into poverty. He sees commerce from the 
human point of view, not as the brutal pitiless struggle which 
justifies every form of ferocity and of low cunning, 1 nevf 
knew him utter an ignoble thought about trade and men*. 
making. An English acquaintance asked me once, 'Is he, 
gentleman ?|' I was obliged to laugh — delicious conti 
between what he meant by a gentleman and all I set 
Moncharmont." 

"1 picture him," said Irene, smiling, "and I picture 
pers6n who made that inquiry." 

Piers flashed a look of gratitude. He had, as yet, hardly 
glanced at her ; he durst not ; his ordeal was to be gone through 
as became a man. Her voice, at moments, touched him to a 
sense of faintness ; he saw her without turning his head ; the 
wave of her dress beside him was like a perfume, was like music ; 
part of him yielded, languished, part made splendid resistance. 

" He is a lesson in civilisation. If trade is not to put an 
end to human progress, it must be pursued in Moncharmont's 
spirit. It's only returning to a better time ; our man i " 
business is a creation of our century, and as bad a thing as 
has produced. Commerce must be humanised once moi 
\Ve invented machinery, and it has enslaved us — a rule of in 
the servile belief that money-making is an end in itself, to 
attained by hard selfishness," 

He checked himself, laughed, and said something about 
beauty of the lane along which they were walking. 

"Don't you think," fell from Irene's lips, "that Mr. Ji 
Jacks is a very human type of the man of business ? " 

" Indeed he is ! " replied Piers, with spirit, "An admiral 
t/pe." 



tiich 

eve^_ 

a^ 

tieV 

1 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 157 

" I have been (old that he owed most of his success to his 
^ rothers, who are a different sort of men." 

" His wealth, perhaps." 

"Yes, there's a difference," said Irene, glancing at him. 
"You may be successful without becoming wealthy; though 
not of course in the common opinion. But what would have 
been the history of England these last fifty years, but for our 
men of iron selfishness ? Isn't it a fact that only in this way 
could we have built up an Empire which ensures the civilisation 
of the world ? " 

Piers could not answer with his true thought, for he knew 
all that was implied in her suggestion of that view, He bent 
his head and spoke very quiedy. 

" Some of our best men think so." 

An answer which gratified Irene more keenly than he 
imagined ; she showed it in her face. 

When they returned to luncheon, and the ladies went 
upstairs, Mrs. Hannaford stepped into her niece's room. 

"What you told me yesterday," she asked, in a nervous 
undertone, " may it be repeated P " 

" Certainly — to anyone." 

"Then please not to come down until I have had a few 
minutes' talk with Mr. Otway. All this shall be explained, dear, 
when we are alone again." 

On entering the sitting-room Irene found it harder to pre- 
serve a natural demeanour than at het meeting with the visitor 
a couple of hours ago. Only when she had heard him speak 
and ID just the same voice as during their walk, was she able 
to turn frankly towards him. His look had not changed. 
Impossible to divine the thoughts hidden by his smile ; he bore 
himself with perfect control. 

At table all was cheerfulness Speak g of things Russian, 
Irene recalled her winter in F nland wh ch she had so greatly 
enjoyed. 

" I remember," said Otway, jou had just returned when I 
met you for the first lime." 

It was said with a peculiar mtonition, which fell agreeably 
on the listener's ear ; a note familiar, in the permitted degree, 
yet touchingly respectful; a world of emotion subdued to 
graceful friendliness. Irene passed over the reminiscence 
irith a light word or two, and went on to gossip me'^e.Vj -i^ 



1 



158 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

'* Do you like caviare, Mr. Otway ? " 

" Except perhaps that supplied by the literary censor," 
his laughing reply. 

"Now I am intriguk. Please explain," 

" We call caviare the bits blacked out in our newspapers and 
periodicals." 

" Unpalatable enough 1 " laughed Irene. " How angry that 
would make me ! " 

" I got used to it," said Piers, " and thought it rather good 
fun sometimes. After all, a wise autocrat might wel! prohibit 
newspapers altogether, don't you think? They have done 
good, I suppose, but they are just as likely to do harm. \VTien 
the next great war comes, newspapers will be the chief cause of 
it. And for mere profit, that's the worst. There are news- 
paper proprietors in every country, who would slaughter \ 
mankind for the pennies of the half who were left, with) 
caring a fraction of a penny whether they had preached 
for a truth or a lie." 

"But doesn't a newspaper simply echo the opinions 
feelings of its public ? " 

" I'm afraid it manufactures opinion, and stirs up feeling 
Consider how very few people know or care anything about 
most subjects of international quarrel. A mere handful at 
the noisy centre of things who make the quarrel. The business 
of newspapers, in general, is to give a show of importance to 
what has no real importance at all — to prevent the world from 
living quietly — to arouse bitterness when the natural 
would be quite indifferent." 

" Oh, surely you paint them too black ! We must live, 
can't let the world stagnate. Newspapers only express 
natural life of peoples, acting and interacting." 

"I suppose I quarrel with them," said Piers, once m< 
subduing himself, " because they have such gigantic powi 
don't make anything like the best use of it." 

"That is to say, they are the work of men — I don't mean,' 
Irene added laughingly, " of men instead of women. Thou( ' 
I'm not sure that women wouldn't manage journalism betft 
if it were left to them." 

"A splendid idea! All men to go about their affairs 
women to report and comment, Why, it would solve e 
problem of society ! There's the hope of the future, beyoiw 
doubt ! Why did I never think of it ! " 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 159 

The next moment Piers was talking about nightingales, how 
he had heard them sing in Little Russia, where their song is 
sweeter than in any other part of Europe. And so the meal 
passed pleasantly, as did the hour or two after it, until it was 
time for Otway to take leave. 

" You travel straight back to London ? " asked Irene. 

" Straight back," he answered, his eyes cast down. 

" To-monow," said Mrs, Hannaford, " we think of going to 
Stratford." 

Piers had an impulse which made his hands tremble and 
bis head throb; in spite of himself he had all but asked 
whether, if he stayed at Malvern overnight, he might accompany 
Ihem on that expedition. Reason prevailed, but only just in 
lime, and the conquest left him under a gloomy sense of self- 
pity, which was the worst thing he had suffered all day. Not 
even Mrs. Hannaford's whispered words on his arrival had 
been so hard to bear. 

He sat in silence, wishing to rise, unable to do so. When 
at length he stood up, Irene let her eyes fall upon him, and 
continued to observe him, as if but half consciously, whilst he 
shook hands with Mrs. Hannaford. He turned to her, and 
his lips moved, but what he had tried to say went unexpressed. 
Nor did Irene speak ; she could have uttered only a civil 
commonplace, and the tragic pallor of his countenance in that 
moment kept her mute. He touched her band and was gone. 

When the house door had closed behind him, the eyes of 
the two women met. Standing as before, they conversed with 
low voices, with troubled brows. Mrs. Hannaford rapidly 
explained her part in what had happened. 

" You will forgive me, Irene ? I see now that I ought to 
have told you about It yesterday," 

" Better as it was, perhaps, so far as I am concerned. But 
111? — I'm sorry" — * 

" He behaved well, don't you think ? " 

"Yes," replied Irene thoughtfully, slowly, "he behaved 

They moved apart, and Irene laid her hand on a book, but 
did not sit down. 

" How old is he ? " she asked of a sudden. 
" Six-and-twenty." 

"One would take him for more. But of course his ways of 
king show how young be is." She fluUMei "On^ y*%?''^ "^^ 



^_^hini 



l6o 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 






her book, and smiled. " It will be interesting to see him 
another five years." 

That was all. Neither mentioned Otway't 
during the two more days they spent together. 

But Irene's mind was busy with the contrast between him 
and Arnold Jacks. She pursued this track of thought whither- 
soever it led her, believing it a wholesome exercise in her 
present mood. Her choice was made, and irrevocable ; reason 
bade her justify it by every means that offered. And she 
persuaded herself that nothing better could have happened, at 
such a juncture, than this suggestion of an alternative so 
widely different. 

An interesting boy — six-and-twenty is still a boyish age — 
with all sorts of vague idealisms ; nothing ripe ; nothing that 
convinced ; a dreary cosmopolite, little likely to achieve results 
in any direction. On the other hand, a mature and vigoroi 
man, English to the core, stable in his tested views of 
already an active participant in the affairs of the nation 
certain to move victoriously onward ; a sure patriot, a sturdy 
politician. It was humiliating to Piers Otway. Indeed, 
unfair 1 

On Monday, when she returned from her visit to Stratford, 
a telegram awaited her. "Thank you, letter to-morrow, 
Arnold." That pleased her; the British laconicism ; the 
sensible simplicity of the thing t And when the letter arrived 
(two pages and a half) it seemed a suitable reply to hers of 
Saturday, m which she had used only everyday words and 
phrases. No gushing in Arnold Jacks ! He was "happy," he 
was "grateful"; what more need an honest man say to the 
woman who has accepted him ? She was his "Dearest Irene "j; 
and what more could she ask to be ? M 

A curious thing happened that evening. Mrs. Hannaron| 
and her niece, both tired after the day's excursion, and havitd 
already talked over its abundant interests, sat reading, (M 
pretending to read. Suddenly, Irene threw her book asie^ 
with a movement of impatience, and stood up. fl 

"Don't you find it very close?" she said, almost irritabld 
" I shall go upstairs. Good-night!" J 

Her aunt gazed at her in surprise. I 

"You are tired, my dear." m 

" I suppose I am.— Aunt, there is something I should Un 
to say, if you will let me. Vou are very kind and good, bd| 



THE CROWN OF LIFE i6i 

that makes you, sometimes, a little indiscreet. Promise me, 
please, never to make me the subject of conversation with 
anyone to whom you cannot speak of me quite openly, before 
all the world." 

Mrs. Hannaford was overcome with astonishment, with 
distress. She tried to reply, but before she could shape a 
word Irene had swept from the room. 

When they met again at breakfast, the girl stepped up to her 
aunt and kissed het on both cheeks — an unusual greeting. 
She was her bright self again ; talked merrily ; read aloud a 
letter from her father, which proved that at the time of writing 
he had not seen Arnold Jacks. 

" I must write to the Doctor to-morrow," she said, with an 
«r of reflection. 

At ten o'clock they drove to the station. While Miss 
Derwent took her ticket Mrs. Hannaford walked on the 
platform. On issuing from the booking-office, Irene saw her 
aunt in conversation with a man, who, in the same moment, 
turned abruptly and walked away. Neither she nor her aunt 
spoke of this incident, but Irene noticed that the other was a 
little flushed. 

She took her seat; Mrs. Hannaford stood awaiting the 
departure of the train. Before it moved, the man Irene had 
noticed came back along the platform, and passed them without 
a sign. Irene saw his face, and seemed to recognise it, but 
could not remember who he was. 

Half an hour later, the face came back to her, and with it a 
name. 

" Daniel Otway ! " she exclaimed to herself. 

It was five years and more since her one meeting with him 
at Ewell, but the man, on that occasion, had impressed her 
Strongly in a very disagreeable way. She had since heard of 
ihim, in relation to Piers Otway's affairs, and knew that her aunt 
had received a call from him in Bryanston Square. What 
could be the meaning of this incident on the platform ? Irene 
wondered, and had an unpleasant feeling about it. 



CHAPTER XX 

ON the journey homeward, and for two or three days after j 
Piers held argument with his passions, trying to persuac" 
himself that he had in truth lost nothing, inasmuch a ' ' " 
had never been founded upon a reasonable hope. Irei 
Derwent was neither more nor less to him now than she ha 
been ever since he first came to know her: a far ideal, tU 
woman he would fain call wife, but only in a dream coul 
think of winning. ^Vhat audacity had speeded him on thi 
wild expedition? It was well that he had been saved froBii 
declaring his folly to Irene herself, who would have shared the 'J 
pain her answer inflicted, Nay, when the moment came, 
reason surely would have checked his absurd impulse. In 
seeing her once more, he saw how wide was the distance 
between them. No more of that ! He had lost nothing but 
a moment's illusion. 

The ideal remained ; the worship, the gratitude, 
much she had been to him ! Rarely a day — very rarely i. 
day — that the thought of Irene did not warm his heart and'* 
exalt his ambition. He had yielded to the fleshly impulse, 
and the measure of his lapse was the sincerity of that nobler 
desire ; he had not the escuse of the ordinary man, nor ever 
tried to allay his conscience with facile views of life. What 
times innumerable had he murmured her name, until it was 
become to him the only woman's name that sounded in truth 
womanly — all others cold to his imagination. What long 
evenings had he passed, yonder by the Black Sea, conta ' 
merely to dream of Irene Derwent ; how many a summ 
night had he wandered in the acacia-planted streets of Odes 
about and about the great square, with its trees, where''' 
stands the cathedra! ; how many a time had his heart throbbed 
all but to bursting when he listened to the music on the 
Boulevard, and felt so terribly alone — alone 1 Irene was 
England. He knew nothing of the patriotism which is I 






is b^ 

J 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 163 

shouted politics ; from his earliest years of intelligence he had 
learnt, listening to his father, a contempt for that loud narrow- 
ness ; but the tongue which was Irene's, the landscape where 
shone Irene's figure — these were dear to him for Irene's sake. 
He believed in his heart of hearts that only the Northern 
Island could hoast the perfect woman — because he had found 
her there. 

Should he talk of loss — he who had gained so unspeakably 
by an ideal love through the hot years of his youth, who to 
the end of his life would be made better by it? That were 
the basest ingratitude. Irene owed hira nothing, yet had 
enriched him beyond calculation. He did not love her less ; 
lahe was the same power in his life. This sinking of the heart, 
this menace of gloom and rebellion, was treachery to his better 
elf. He fought manfully against it. 

Circumstances were unfavourable to such a struggle. Work, 
absorption in the day's duty, well and good ; but when work 
and duty led one into the City of London ! 

At first, he had found excitement in the starting of his 
business; so much had to be done, so many points to be 
debated and decided, so many people to be seen and con- 
versed with, contended with ; it was all an exhilarating effort 
of mind and body. He felt the joy of combat ; sped to the 
City tike any other man, intent on holding his own amid the 
furious welter, seeing a delight in the computation of his 
chances ; at once a fighter and a gambler, like those with 
whom he rubbed shoulders in the roaring ways. He over- 
taxed his energy, and in any case there must have come re- 
action. It came with violence soon after that day at Malvern. 

The weather was hot; one should have been far away 
from these huge rampart-streets, these stifling burrows of com- 
merce. But here toil and stress went on as usual, and 
!Piers Otway saw it all in a lurid light. These towering 
edifices with inscriptions numberless, announcing every 
imaginable form of trade with every corner of the world ; here 
a vast building, consecrate in all its commercial magnificence, 
great windows and haughty doorways, the gleam of gilding and 
f brass, the lustre of polished woods, to a single company or 
rm ; here a huge structure which housed on its many Hoors 
I crowd of enterprises, names by the score signalled at the 
Soot of the gaping staircase ; arrogant sug,^e&l\otv% q^ Vwawi^ 
side by side with desperate beginnings ■, dAts qI ■«irfA--^\6« 



r 






164 THE CROWN OF LIFE ■ 

significance meeting the eye at every turn, vulgar names with 
more weight than those of princes, words in small lettering 
which ruled the fate of milhons of men ; — no nightmare was 
ever so crushing to one in Otway's mood. The brute force of 
money ; the negation of the individual — these, the evils of 
our time, found their supreme expression in the City of 
London. Here was opulence at home and superb; here 
must poverty lurk and shrink, feeling itself ahve only on 
sufferance; the din of highway and byway was a voice of 
blustering conquest, bidding the weaker to stand aside or be 
crushed. Here no man was a human being, but each merely 
a portion of an inconceivably complicated mechanism. The 
shiny-hatted figure who rushed or sauntered, gloomed by 
himself at corners or made one of a talking group, might else- 
where be found a reasonable and kindly person, with traits, 
peculiarities; here one could see in him nothing but 
a money-maker of this or that class, groimd to a certain 
pattern. The smooth working of the huge machine made it 
only the more sinister ; one had but to remember what cold 
tyranny, what elaborate fraud, were served by its manifold 
ingenuities, only to think of the cries of anguish stified by its 
monotonous roar. 

Piers had undertaken a task, and would not shirk it 
in spite of all reasonings and idealisms he found life a hai 
thing during these weeks of August. He lost his slee| 
turned from food, and for a moment feared collapse such 
he had suffered soon after his first going to Odessa. 

By the good offices of John Jacks he had already been 
elected to a convenient club, and occasionally he passed an 
evening there; but his habit was to go home to Guilford 
Street, and sit hour after hour in languid brooding. He feared 
the streets at night-time; in his loneliness and misery, a gleam 
upon some wanton face would perchance have lured him, 
had happened ere now. Not so much at the bidding of ' 
youthful blood, as out of mere longing for companionship, 
common cause of disorder in men condemned to sobtude 
great cities. A woman's voice, the touch of a soft 
this is what men so often hunger for, when they are censui 
for lawless appetite. But Piers Otway knew himself, 
chose to sit alone in the dreary lodging-house. Then 
thought of liene, trying to foi^et what had happened. " 
and then successfully ; in a waVmo diea.m \ia ^ast and 



i 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



.65 



I her, and knew again the exalting passion that had been the 

1 best of his life, and was saved from ignoble impulse. 

When he was at the lowest, there came a letter from Olga 

F Hannaford, the first he had ever received in her writing. 
Olga had joined her mother at Malvern, and Mrs. Hannaford 
was so unwell that it seemed likely they would remain there 

I for a few weeks, " When we can move, the best thing will be 
to take a house in or near London. Mother has decided not 
to return to Bryanston Square, and I, for my part, shall give up 
the life you made fun of. You were quite right ; of course it was 
foolish to go on in that way." She asked him to write to her 
mother, whom a line from him would cheer. Piers did so ; 
also replying to his correspondent, and trying to make a 
humorous picture of the life he led between the City and 
Guilford Street It was a sorry jest, but it helped him against 

I his troubles. When, in a week's time, Olga again wrote, he 
The letter seemed to him interesting ; it revived 
their common memories of life at Geneva, whither Olga said 
she would hke to return. " What to do — how to pass the 
years before me — is the question with me now, as I suppose 

f it is with so many girls of my age. 1 must find a mission. 

I Can you suggest one? Only don't kt it have anything 
humanitarian about it. That would make me a humbug, which 
1 have never been yet. It must be something entirely for my 
own pleasure and profit. Do think about it in an idle 

I moment." 

With recovery from his physical ill-being came a new mental 

I restlessness ; the return, rather, of a mood which had always 

' assailed him when he lost for a time his ideal hope, He 
demanded of life the joy natural to his years ; revolted against 
the barrenness of his lot. A terror fell upon him lest he should 
be fated never to know the supreme delight of which he was 
capable, and for which alone he lived. Even now was he not 
passing his prime, losing the keener faculties of youth ? He 
trembled at the risks of every day ; what was his assurance 
against the common ill-hap which might afflict him with disease, 
blight his Ufe with accident, so that no woman's eye could 
r be templed to rest upon him ? He cursed the restrictions 

I which held him on a strait path of routine, of narrow custom, 

I when a world of possibilities spread about him on either hand, 
; mirage of his imprisoned spirit. Adventurous projects 
xeeded each other in his thoughts. H.e taTue-iX-ii "'ivft'^a-'aSa 



r 



166 THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 

uted 
him 

irld? 



I 



where life was freer, where perchance his happiness awaited 
him, had he but the courage to set forth. What brought him 
to London, this squalid blot on the map of the round world ? 
Why did he consume the irrecoverable hours amid its hostili 
tumult, its menacing gloom ? 

On the first Sunday in September he aroused himself 
travel by an early train, which bore him far into the couni 
He had taken a ticket at hazard for a place with a pleasant- 
sounding name, and before village bells had begun to ring he 
was wandering in deep lanes amid the weald of Sussex. All 
about him lay the perfect loveliness of that rural landscape 
which is the old England, the true England, the England dear 
to the best of her children. Meadow and copse, the yellow 
rank of new-reaped sheaves, brown roofs of farm and cottage 
amid shadowing elms, the grassy borders of the road, hedges 
with their flowered creepers and promise of wild fruit — these 
things brought him comfort, Mile after mile he wandered, 
losing himself in simplest enjoyment, forgetting to ask why he 
was alone. When he felt hungry, an inn supplied him with 
meal. Again he rambled on, and in a leafy corner found 
spot where he could idle for an hour or two, until it was time 
think of the railway station. 

He had tired himself; his mind slipped from the beautiful 
thmgs around him, and fell into the old reverie. He murmured 
the haunting name — Irene. As well as for her who bore it, he 
loved the name for its meaning. Peace ! As a child he had 
been taught that no word was more beautiful, more solemn ; 
at this moment, he could hear it in his father's voice, sounding 
as a note of music, with a tremor of deep feeling. Peace ! 
Every year that passed gave him a fuller understanding of his 
father's devotion to that word in all its significance ; he him- 
self knew something of the same fervour, and was glad to foster 
it in his heart. Peace ! What better could a man pursue? 
from of old the desire of wisdom, the prayer of the aspiring souL 

And what else was this Love for which he anguished ? 
Irene herself, the beloved, sought with passion and with 
worship, what more could she give him, when all was givei 



tie 

I 

ful^ 



^^ _ worship, what more could she give him, when all was giver^^^ 

^^L' than content, repose, peace ? ^H 

^^^ He had been too ambitious. It was the fault of ^^| 

^^H character, and, thus far on his life's journey, in recognising ^^^| 

^^H error might he not correct it 7 Unbalanced ambition exp1aini^^| 

^^H Ns ineffectiveness. At six-and-twenty he had done nothin^^f 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 167 

and saw no hope of activity correspondent wilh his pride. In 
Russia he had at least felt that he was treading an uncrowded 
path : he had made his own a language familiar to very few 
western Europeans, and constantly added to his knowledge of 
a people moving to some unknown greatness ; the position was . 
not ignoble. But here in London he was lost amid the uproar ^ 
of striving tradesmen. The one thing which would still have 
justified him, hope of wealth, had all but vanished. He must 
get rid of his absurd self-estimate, see himself in the light of 
common day. 

Peace ! He could only hope for it in marriage ; but what 
was marriage without ideal love ? Impossible that he should 
ever love another woman as he had loved, as he still loved, 
Irene, The ordinary man seeks a wife just as he takes any 
other 'practical step necessary to his welfare ; he marries 
because he must, not because he has met with the true com- 
panion of his life ; he mates to be quiet, to be comfortable, to 
get on wilh his work, whatever it be. Love in the high sense 
between man and woman is of all things the most rare. Few 
are capable of it ; to fewer still is it granted. " The crown of 
life ! " said Jerome Otway. A truth, even from the strictly 
scientific point of view ; for is not a great mutual passion the 
culminating height of that blind reproductive impulse from 
which life b^ins ? Supreme desire ; perfection of union. The 
purpose of Nature translated into human consciousness, 
become the glory of the highest soul, uttered in the lyric 
rapture of noblest speech. 

That, he must renounce. But not thereby was he condemned 
to a foolish or base alliance. Women innumerable might be 
met, charming, sensible, good, no unfit objects of his wooing : 
in all modesty he might hope for what the world calls 
happiness. But, put it at the best, he would be doing as 
other men do, taking a wife for his solace, for the defeat of his 
assailing blood. It was the bitterness of his mere humanity 
that he could not hope 10 live alone and faithful. Five years 
ago he might have said to himself, " Irene or no one ! " and 
have said it with the honesty of youth, of inexperience. No 
such enthusiasm was possible to him now. For the thing 
which is common in fable is all but unknown in life : a man, 
capable of loving ardently, who for the sake of one woman, 
—btyond his hope, sacrifices love altogether. Piers Otway, who 
»d much verse, had not neglected his ^to-Ktvm^, VLe.\.i\w« 



l68 THE CROWN OF LIFE 



I 



1 

atific 

, and 
:tion. 
To_ 



the transcendent mood of Browning's ideal lover — the beatific 
dream of love eternal, world after world, hoping for ever, and 
finding such hope preferable to every less noble satisfaction. 
For him, a mood only, passing with a smile and a sigh. To, 
that he was not equal ; these heights heroic were not for ' ' ' 
treading. Too insistent were the flesh and blood that compo: 
his earthly being. 

He must renounce the best of himself, step consciously to a 
lower level. Only let it not prove sheer degradation. 

In all his struggling against the misery of loss, one thought 
never tempted him. Never for a fleeting instant did he doubt 
that his highest love was at the same time highest reason. 
Men woefully deceive themselves, yearning for women whose 
image in their minds is a mere illusion, women who scarce for 
a day could bring them happiness, and whose companionship 
through life would become a curse. Be it so ; Piers knew it, 
dwelt upon it as a perilous fact ; it had no application to his 
love for Irene Derwent. Indeed, Piers was rich in that least 
common form of intelligence^the intelligence of the heart. 
Emotional perspicacity, the power of recognising through all 
forms of desire one's true affinity in the other sex, is bestowed 
upon one mortal in a vast multitude. Not lack of opportunity 
alone accounts for the failure of men and women to mate 
becomingly ; only the elect have eyes to see, even where the 
field of choice is freely opened to them. But Piers Otway 
saw and knew, once and for ever. He had the genius of love : 
where he could not observe, divination came to his help. 
His knowledge of Irene Derwent surpassed that of the persons 
most intimate with her, and he could as soon have doubted 
his own existence as the certainty that Irene was what he-i 
thought her, neither more nor less. 

But he had erred in dreaming it possible that he might 
her love. That he was not all unworthy of it, his pride i 
tinned to assure him ; what he had failed to perceive was the 
impossibility, circumstances being as they were, of urging a 
direct suit, of making himself known to Irene. His birth, his 
position, the accidents of his career — all forbade it. This had 
been forced upon his consciousness from the very first, in 
hours of despondency or of torment ; but he was too young 
and too ardent for the fact to have its full weight with him. 



. he-H 



^^_ Hope resisted ; passion refused acquiescence. Nothing short^J 
^^L of what had happened could reveal to him the vanity of hia^^ 



■ THE CROWN OF LIFE 169 

imaginings. He looked back on the years of patient confidence 
with wonder and compassion. Had he reajiy hoped ? Yes, 
for he had lived so long alone. 

Paragraphs, morning, evening, and weekly, liad long since 
published Miss Derwent's engagement. Those making simple 
announcement of the fact were trial enough to him when his 
eye fell upon them ; intolerable were those which commented, 
as in the case of a society journal which he had idly glanced 
over at his club. This taught him that Irene had more social 
importance than he guessed; her marriage would be some- 
thing of an event. Heaven grant that he might read no ' 
joomalistic description of the ceremony ! Few things more 
disgusted him than the thought of a fashionable wedding ; he 
could see nothing in it but profanation and indecency. That 
mattered little, to be sure, in the case of ordinary people, who 
were bom, and lived, and died, in fashionable routine, anxious 
only to exhibit themselves at any given moment in the way 
held to be good form ; but it was hard to think that custom's 
tyranny should lay its foul hand on Irene Derwent. Perhaps 
her future husband meant no such thing, and would arrange it 
all with quiet becomingness. Certainly her father would not 
favour the tawdry and the vulgar. 

No date was announced. Paragraphs said merely that it 
would be " before the end of the year," . 

After all, his day amid the fields was spoilt. He had allowed 
his mind to stray in the forbidden direction, and the seeming 
quiet to which he had attained was overthrown once more. 
Heavily he moved towards the wayside station, and drearily he 
waited for the train that was to take him back to his meaning- 
less toil and strife. 

In the compartment he entered, an empty one, some 
passenger bad left a weekly periodical ; Piers seized upon it 
gladly, and read to distract his thoughts. One article interested 
him ; it was on the subject of national characteristics : cleverly 
written, what is called " smart " journalism, with grip and 
epigram, with hint of universal knowledge and the true air 
of British superiority. Having scanned the writer's comment 
on the Slavonic peoples, Piers laughed aloud ; so evidently it 
was a report at second or third hand, utterly valueless to one 
who had any real acquaintance with the Slavs. This moment 
f spoataneous mirth did him good, helped to restore hi.^ w.\S- 
And as he pondered, old ambitvots s^vteA a^KRx-p. 



rl-*^ ^ 
170 THE CROWN OF LIFE H 

him. Could he not make some use of the knowledge he haij 
gained so lahoriously — some use other than that whereby h^H 
earned his living? Not so long ago, he had harboured great" 
designs, vague but not irrational. And to-day, even in bidding 
himself be humble, his intellect was little tuned to humility. 
He had never, at his point of darkest depression, really believed 
that life had no shining promise for him. The least boastful 
of men, he was at heart one of the most aspiring. His moods 
varied wonderfully. When he alighted at the London terminus, 
he looked and felt like a man refreshed by some new hope. 

Half by accident, he kept the paper he had been reading, 
It lay on his table in Guilford Street for weeks, for months,^ 
Years after, he came upon it one day in turning out thfiS 
contents of a trunk, and remembered his ramble in tb^| 
Sussex woodland, and smiled at the chances of life. ^M 

On Monday morning he had a characteristic letter fro^H 
Moncharmont, part English, part French, part Russiai^H 
Nothing, or only a passing word, about business ; communicsj 
lions of that sort were all addressed to the office, and were as 
concise, as practical, as any trader could have desired. In his 
friendly letter, Moncharmont chatted of a certain Polish girl 
with whom he had newly made acquaintance, whose beauty, 
according to the good Andr^, was a thing to dream of, not to 
tell. It meant nothing, as Piers knew. . The cosmopolitan 
Swiss fell in love some dozen times a year, with maidens or 
women of every nationality and every social station. Be the 
issue what it might, he was never unhappy. He had a gallery 
of photographs, and delighted to pore over it, indulging 
reminiscences or fostering hopes. Once in a twelvemonth or 
so, he made up his mind to marry, but never went further 
than the intention. It was doubtful whether he would ever 
commit himself irrevocably. " It seems such a pity," he 
often said, with his pensively humorous smile, " to limit the 
scope of one's emotions — bomer la carriire a ses Imotions I \^ 
Then he sighed, and was m the best of spirits. 

Not even to Moncharmont — with whom he talked m(» 
freely than with any other man — had Piers ever spoken t 
Irene. Andr^ of course suspected some romantic attachmoT 
and was in constant amaze at Piers' fidelity. 

"Ah, you English I you English!" he would exclai 
" you are the Stoics of the modem world. I admire ; yea 
admire; 6ut, my friend, 1 do not '«\s\i Vq i.mi<.ate." 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 171 

The letter cheered Otway's breakfast ; he read it instead of 
the newspaper, and with vastly more benefit. 

Another letter had come to his private address, a note from 
Mrs. Hannaford. She was regaining strength, and hoped 
soon to come South again. Her brother had already taken a 
nice little house for her at Campden Hill, where Olga would 
have a sort of studio, and, she trusted, would make herself 
happy. Both looked forward to seeing Piers ; they sent him 
their very kindest remembrances. 




I 



THE passionate temperament is necessarily sangume. 
desire with all one's being is the same thing as to hope. 
In Piers Otway's case, the temper which defies discouragement 
existed together with the intellect which ever tends to dis- 
courage, with the mind which probes appearances, makes war 
upon illusions. Hence his oft-varying moods, as the one or 
the other part of him became ascendant. Hence his fervours 
of idealism, and the habit of destructive criticism which seemed 
inconsistent with them. Hence his ardent ambitions, and hiE^ 
appearance of plodding mediocrity in practical life. j 

Intensely self-conscious, he suffered much from a habit of 
comparing, contrasting himself with other men, with men who 
achieved things, who made their way, who played a part in 
the world. He could not read a newspaper without reflecting, 
sometimes bitterly, on the careers and position of men whose 
iigmes were prominent in its columns. So often, he well 
J" knew, their success came only of accident — as one uses the 
A word : of favouring circumstance, which had no relation to the 
^-jnan's powers and merits. Piers had no overweening self- 
esteem i he judged his abilities more accurately, and more 
severely, than any observer would have done ; yet it was 
plain to him that he would be more than capable, so far as 
endowment went, of filling the high place occupied by this 
the other far -shining personage. He frankly envied thi 
success — always for one and the same reason. 

Nothing so goaded his imagination as a report of ll 
marriage of some leader in the world's game. He dwelt on 
these paragraphs, filled up the details, grew faint with realisa- 
tion of the man's triumphant happiness. At another moment, 
his reason ridiculed this self-torment. He knew that in all 
probability such a marriage implied no sense of triumph, 
involved no high emotions, promised nothing but the 
commonest domestic satisfaction. Portraits of brides in an 
iUustrated paper sometimes -wiou^ht. him to intoleral 



as 

1 



1 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



'73 



agitalion — the mood of his early manhood, as when he stood 
before the print shop in the Haymarket ; now that he had 
lost Irene, the whole world of beautiful women called again 
to his senses and his soul. With the cooler moment came a 
reminder that these lovely faces were for the most part mere 
masks, tricking out a very ordinary woman, more likely than 
not unintelligent, unhelpful, as the ordinary human being of 
either sex is wont to be. What seemed to kim the crown of a 
man's career, was, in most cases, a mere incident, deriving its 
chief importance from social and pecuniary considerations. 
Even where a sweet countenance told truth about the life 
behind it, how seldom did the bridegroom appreciate what he 
had won ! For the most part, men who have great good 
fortune, in marriage, or in anything else, are incapable of 
tasting their success. It is the imaginative being in the crowd 
below who marvels and is thrilled. 

How was it with Arnold Jacks ? Did he understand what 
had befallen him ? If so, on what gleaming heights did he 
now live and move ! What rapture of gratitude must possess 
the man ! What humility ! What arrogance ! 

Piers had not met him since the engagement was made known ; 
he hoped not to meet him for a long time. Happily, in this 
holiday season, there was nofear of an invitation to Queen's Gate. 

Yet the unexpected happened. Early in September, he 
received a note from John Jacks, asking him to dine. The 
vrtiter said that he had been at the seaside, and was tired of 
it, and meant to spend a week or two quietly in London; 
he was quite alone, so Otway need not dress. 

Reassured by the last sentence of the letter. Piers gladly 
went; for he liked to talk with John Jacks, and had a 
troubled pleasure in the thought that he might hear something 
about the approaching marriage. On his arrival, he was 
shown into the study, where his host lay on a sofa. The 
greeting was cordial, the voice cheery as ever, but as Mr. 
Jacks rose he had more of the appearance of old age than 
Piers had yet seen in him ; he seemed to stand with some 
difl^culty, his face betokening a body ill at ease. 

"How pleasant London is in September!" he exclaimed, 
irith a laugh. "I've been driving about, as one does in a 
n abroad, just to see the streets. Strange that one knows 
5 and Rome a good deal better than London. Yet it's 
y interesting — don't you thmV.1" 



174 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

The twinkling eye, the humorous accent, which had won 
Piers' affection, soon allayed his disquietude at being in this 
bouse. He spoke of his own recent excursion, confessing that 
he better appreciated London from a distance. 

"Ay, ay! I know all about that," replied Mr. Jacks, hia 
Yorkshire note sounding, as it did occasionally. " But you're 
young, you're young ; what does it matter where you live ? "" 
be your age again, I'd live at St. Helens, or Widnes. \ 
have hope, man, always hope. And you may live to see w 
the world is like half a century from now. It's strange to k 

iat you, and think that ! " 
John Jacks' presence in London, and alone, at this time 
the year had naturally another explanation than that he teA 
tired of the seaside. In truth, he had come up to see i^_ 
medical specialist. Carefully he kept from his wife the 
knowledge of a disease which was taking hold upon him, which 
— as he had just leamt ^ threatened rapidly fatal results. 
From his son, also, he had concealed the serious state of his 
health, lest it should interfere with Arnold's happy mood in 
prospect of marriage. He was no coward, but a life hitherto 
untroubled by sickness had led him to hope that he might 

I pass easily from the world, and a doom of extinction by torture 
perturbed his philosophy. 
He liked to forget himself in contemplation of Piers Otway's 
youth and soundness. He had pleasure, too, in Piers' talk, which 
reminded him of Jerome Otway, some half-century ago. 
Mrs. Jacks was staying with her own family, and from that 
house would pass to others, equally decorous, where John had 
promised to join her. Of course she was uneasy about him ; 
that entered into her role of model spouse : hut the excellent 
lady never suspected the true cause of that habit of sadness 
which had grown upon her husband during the last few years, 
a melancholy which anticipated his decline in health. John 
Jacks had made the mistake natural to such a man ; wedding 
at nearly sixty a girl of much less than half his age, he found, 

I of course, that his wife had nothing to give him but duty and 
respect, and before long he bitterly reproached himself with J 
the sacrifice of which he was guilty. fl 

"Soar on thy manhood clear of lliDSe ^H 

Whose toolMess Winter claws at Maf, ^^H 

And take her as the vein aC rose ^^1 

Athwart an evening Sie^j." ^^H 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 175 

. These lines met his eye one day in a new volume which bore 
the name of George Meredith, and they touched him nearly ; 
the poem they closed gave utterance to the manful resignation 
of one who has passed the age of love, yet is tempted by 
love's sweetness, and John Jacks took to heart the reproach 
it seemed to level at himself. Putting aside the point of 
years, he had not chosen with any discretion ; he married a 
handsome face, a graceful figure, just as any raw boy might 
have done. His wife, he suspected, was not the woman to 
suffer greatly in her false position ; she had very temperate 
blood, and a thoroughly English devotion to the proprieties ; 
none the less he had done her wrong, for she belonged to a 
gentle family in mediocre circumstances, and his prospective 
" M.P.," his soUd wealth, were sore temptations to put before 
such a girl. He had known — yes, he assuredly knew — that it 
was nothing but a socially sanctioned purchase. Beauty 
should have become to him but the "vein of rose," to be 
regarded with gentle admiration and with reverence, from afar. 
He yielded to an unworthy temptation, and, being a man 
of unusiml sensitiveness, very soon paid the penalty in 
self-contempt. 

He could not love his wife ; he could scarce honour her — 
for she too must consciously have sinned against the highest 
law. Her irreproachable behaviour only saddened him. Now 
that he found himself under sentence of death, his solace was 
the thought that his widow would still be young enough to 
redeem her error — if she were capable of redeeming it. 

Alone with his guest in the large dining-room, and compelled 
to make only pretence of eating and drinking, he talked of 
many things with the old spontaneity, the accustomed liberal 
kindhness, and dropped at length upon the subject Piers was 
waiting for. 

" You know, I daresay, that Arnold is going to marry ? " 

" I have heard of it," Piers answered, with the best smile he 
could command. 

" Vou can imagine it pleases me. I don't see how he could 
have been luckier. Dr. Derwent is one of the finest men I 
know, and his daughter is worthy of him." 

"She is, I am sure," said Piers, in a balanced voice, which 
sounded mere civility. 

And when silence had lasted rather too long, the host having 
'illen into reverie, he added : 



176 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



" Will it take place soon ? " 

"Ah — the wedding? About Christmas, I think. Amd| 
is looking for a house. By the bye, you know young Derwef 
— Eustace ? " 

Piers answered that he had only the slightest acquainta 
with the young man. 

"Not brilliant, I think," said Mr. Jacks musingly, 
amiable, straight. I don't know that he'll do much at t 
Bar." 

Again he lost himself for a little, his knitted brows seemiiq 
to indicate an anxious thought. 

"Now you shall tell me anything you care to, aboutl 
business," said the host, when they had seated themselves ii 
the library, " And after that I have something to show you— ij 
something you'll like to see, I think." fl 

Otway's curiosity was at a loss when presently he saw hipfl 
host take from a drawer a little packet of papers. 

" I had forgotten all about these," said Mr. Jacks, 
are manuscripts of your father ; writings of various kinds which 
he sent me in the early fifties. Turning out my old papers, I 
came across them the other day, and thought I would give 
them to you." 

He rustled the faded sheets, glancing over them with a sadj 
smile. fl 

" There's an amusing thing^called ' Historical Fragment.^ 
I remember, oh I remember very well, how it pleased me wheiA 
I first read it." jl 

He read it aloud now, with many a chuckle, many a paus^ 
of sly emphasis, ■ 

" 'The Story of the last war between the Asiatic kingdoms 
of Duroba and Kalaya, though it has reached us in a narrative 
far too concise, is one of the most interesting chapters in the 
history of ancient civilisation. 

"'They were bordering states, peopled by races closely 
akin, whose languages, it appears, were mutually intelligible ; 
each had developed its own polity, and had advanced to a 
high degree of refinement in public and private life. Wars 
between them had been frequent, but at the time with which 
we are concerned the spirit of hostility was all but forgotten in 
a happy peace of long duration. Each country was ruled by 
an aged monarch, beloved of the people, but, under the.-i 
burden ofy&as, grown of late somewhat less vigilant than wifc^ 



^^bnsii 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 177 

insistent with popular welfare. Thus it came to pass that 
power fell into the hands of unscrupulous scatesmeu, who, 
aided by singular circumstances, succeeded in reviving for a 
moment the old sanguinary jealousies. 

" ' We are told that a General in the army of Duroba, 
having a turn for experimental chemistry, had discovered a 
substance of terrible explosive power, which, by the exercise of 
further ingenuity, he had adapted for use in warfare. About 
the same time, a public official in Kalaya, whose duty it was 
lo convey news to the community by means of a primitive 
system of manuscript placarding, hit uf)on a mechanical method 
whereby news-sheets could be multiplied vety rapidly and be 
sold to readers all over the kingdom. Now the Duroban 
General felt eager to test his discovery in a campaign, and, 
happening to have a quarrel with a politician in the neighbour- 
ing state, did his utmost to excite hostile feeling against Kalaya. 
On the other hand, the Kalayan official, his cupidity excited 
by the profits already arising from his invention, desired nothing 
better than some stirring event which would lead lo still 
greater demand for the news-sheets he distributed, and so he 
also was led to the idea of stirring up international strife To 
be brief, these intrigues succeeded only too well; war was 
actually declared, the armies were mustered, and marched to 
the encounter. 

" ' They met at a point of the common frontier where only 
a little brook flowed between the two kingdoms. It was 
nightfall j each host encamped, to await the great engagement 
which on the morrow would decide between them, 

'"It must be understood that the Durobans and the 
Kalayans differed markedly in national characteristics. The 
former people was distinguished by joyous vitality and a keen 
sense of humour; the latter, by a somewhat meditative 
disposition inclining to timidity ; and doubtless these qualities 
had become more pronounced during the long peace which 
would naturally favour them. Now, when night had fallen on 
the camps, the common soldiers on each side began to discuss, 
over their evening meal, the position in which they found 
themselves. The men of Duroba, having drunk well, as their 
habit was, fell into an odd state of mind. " What ! " they 
exclaimed lo one another. "After all these years of tran- 

"Itity, are we really going to fight with the Kalayans, and to 

ighter them and be ourselves slaughtered! I'ta.-j , ^"aa-^ Ss. 



w 



178 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



it all about? Who can tell us?" Not a man could answer, 
save with the vaguest generalities. And so, the det)ate 
continuing, the wonder grovriiig from moment to moment, at 
length, and all of a sudden, the Duroban camp echoed with 
huge peals of laughter. " Why, if we soldiers have no cau; 
quarrel, what are we doing here ? Shall we be mangled 
killed to please our General with the turn for chemistry? 1 
were a joke, indeed ! " And, as soon as mirth permitted, 
army rose as one man, threw together their belongings, 
with jovial songs trooped off to sleep comfortably in a town 
couple of miles away. 

" ' The Kalayans, meanwhile, had been occupied with the 
very same question. They were anything but martial of mood, 
and the soldiery, ill at ease in their camp, grumbled and 
protested. "After all, why are we here?" cried one to the 
other. "VVho wants to injure the Durobans? And what^ 
man among us desires to be blown to pieces by their n« 
instruments of war ? Pray, why should we fight ? If tl 
great officials are angry, as the news-sheets tell us, e'en let 
them do the fighting themselves." At this moment there 
sounded from the enemy's camp a stupendous roar; it was 
much like laughter ; no doubt the Durobans were jubilant in 
anticipation of their victory. Fear seized the Kalayans; they 
rose like one man, and incontinently fled far into Che shelterit^ 
night ! ^ 

'"Thus ended the war — ^the last between these happy 
nations, who, not very long after, united to form a noble state 
under one ruler. It is interesting to note that the original 
instigators of hostility did not go without their deserts. The 
Duroban General, having been duly tried for a crime against 
his country, was imprisoned in a spacious building, (ije rooms 
of which were hung with great pictures representing every 
horror of battle with the ghastliest fidelity; here he was 
supplied with materials for chemical experiment, to occupy his 
leisure, and very shortly, by accident, blew himself to pieces. 
The Kalayan publicist was also convicted of treason against 
the state ; they banished him to a desert island, where for 
many hours daily he had to multiply copies of his news-sheet 
— that issue which contained the declaration of war — and at 
evening to bum them alL He presently became imbecile, 



Piers 



d away. 



with delight. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 179 

" Whether it ever got into print," said Mr, Jacks, " I don't 
know. Your father was often careless about his best things. 
I'm afraid he was never quite convinced that ideals of that 
kind influence the world. Yet they do, you know, though it's 
a slow business, It's thought that leads." 

"The multitude following in its own fashion," said Piers 
drily. " Rousseau teaches liberty and fraternity ; France 
learns the lesson, and plunges into '93." 

"With Nap to put things straight again. For all that, 
a step was taken. We are better for Jean Jacques— a little 
better." 

" And for Napoleon, too, I suppose. Napoleon — a wild 
beast with a genius for arithmetic." 

John Jacks let his eyes rest upon the speaker, interested 
and amused, 

"That's how you see him? Not a had definition. I 
suppose the truth is, we know nothing about human history. ~ 
The old view was good for working by — Jehovah holding his 
balance, smiting on one side, and rewarding on the other. 
It's our national view to this day. The English are an Old 
Testament people ; they never cared about the New. Do you 
know that there's a sect who hold that the English are the 
Lost Tribes— the People of the Promise ? I see a great deal 
to be said for that idea. No other nation has such profound 
sympathy with the history and the creeds of Israel. Did you 
ever think of it ? That Old Testament religion suits us per- 
fectly — our arrogance and our pugnaciousness ; this accounts 
for its hold on the mind of the people ; it couldn't be stronger 
if the bloodthirsty old Tribes were truly our ancestors. The 
English seized upon their spiritual inheritance as soon as a 
translation^f the Bible put it before them. In Catholic days 
we fought because we enjoyed it, and made no pretences ; 
since the Reformation we have fought for Jehovah." 

" I suppose," said Piers, " the English are the least Christian 
of all so-called Christian peoples." 

" Undoubtedly. They simply don't know the meaning of 
^Ae prime Christian virtue — humility. But that's neither here 

r there, in talking of progress. You remember Goldsmith — 



t pride has been a good thing, on the viVioVe, ■W\*:'fcet*'» 



r 



180 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



hi^ 



will still be, now that it's so largely the pride of richesj let 
say who is alive fifty years hence." 

He paused, and added gravely : 

"I'm afraid the national character is degenerating. We 
were always too fond of liquor, and Heaven knows our re- 
sponsibility for drunkenness all over the world ; but worse 
than that is our gambling. You may drink and be a fine 
fellow ; but every gambler is a sneak, and possibly a criminal. 
We're beginning, now, to gamble for slices of the world. 
We're getting base, too, in our grovelling before the millionaire 
— who as often as not has got his money vilely. This sort of 
thing won't do for ' the lords of human kind.' Our pride, if 
we don't look out, will turn to bluffing and bullying. I'm 
afraid we govern selfishly where we've conquered. We hear 
dark things of India, and worse of Africa. And hear the roar- 
ing of the Jingoes ! Johnson defined Patriotism, you know, as 
the last refuge of a scoundrel ; it looks as if it might presently 
be the last refuge of a fool." 

"Meanwhile," said Piers, "the real interests of England, 
real progress in national life, seem to be as good as lost 
sight of." 

" Yes, more and more. They think that material prosperity 
is progress. So it is — up to a certain point, and who 
stops there ? Look at Germany." 

"Once the peaceful home of pure intellect, the land 
Goethe." 

"Once, yes, And my fear is that our brute, bluster^ 
ing Bismarck may be coming. — But," he suddenly brightened, 
" croakers be hanged ! The civilisers are at work too, and 
they have their way in the end. Think of a man like your 
father, who seemed to pass and be forgotten. Was it ri 
so? I'll warrant that at this hour Jerome Otway's spirit 
working in many of out best minds. There's no calculal' 
the power of the man who speaks from his very heart, 
words don't perish, though he himself may lose courage. 

Listening, Piers felt a glow pass into all the currents of 
life. 

" If only," he exclaimed, in a voice that trembled, 
as much strength as desire to carry on his work ! " 

" Why, who knows ? " replied John Jacks, looking wi 
encouragement wherein mingled something of affectii 
" Yoa have the power of sincerity, 1 see that. Speak alwi 



1 



THE CROWN OF LIFE i8i 

as you believe, and who knows what opportunity you may find 
for making yourself heard ! " 

John Jacks reflected deeply for a few moments. 

" I'm going away in a day or two," he said at length, in a 
measured voice, "and my movements are uncertain — uncertain. 
But we shall meet again before the end of the year." 

When he had left the house, Piers recalled the tone of this 
remark, and dwelt upon it with disquietude. 



I 




I 



THE night being fair, Piers set out to walk a part of t 
way home. Il was only by thoroughly tiring himse _ 
with bodily exercise that he could get sound and long obliyion. 
Hours of sleeplessness were his dread. However soon he 
awoke after daybreak, he rose at once and drove his mind to 
some sort of occupation. To escape from himself was all he 
lived for in these days. An ascetic of old times, subduing his 
flesh in cell or cave, battled no harder than this idealist of 
London City tortured by his solitude. 

On the pavement of Piccadilly he saw some yards before 
him, a man seemingly of the common lounging sort, tall-hatted 
and frock-coated, who was engaged in the cautious pursuit of 
a female figure, just in advance. A light and springy and half- 
stalking step ; head jutting a little forward ; the cane mechani- 
cally swung — a typical woman-hunter, in some doubt as to his 
quarry. On an impulse of instinct or calculation, the man all 
at once took a few rapid strides, bringing himself within side- 
view of the woman's face. Evidently he spoke a word; he 
received an obviously curt reply ; he fell back, paced slowly, 
turned. And Piers became aware of a countenance he knew — 
that of his brother Daniel. 

It was a disagreeable moment. Daniel's lean, sallow vis^d 
had no aptitude for the expression of shame, but his eyes g 
very round, and his teeth showed in a hard grin, 

" Why, Piers, my boy I Again we meet in a London street—^ 
which is rhyme, and sounds like Browning, doesn't it ? Ceit/f-% 
meftifa va-t-ilV 

Piers shook hands very coldly, without pretence of a smile, 

"I am walking on," he said. "Yours is the other way, tfl 
think." 

"What! You wish to cut me? Pray, your exquidfiB 
reason ? " 
" Well, then, I think you Viavc Vie\\a.\e6. TOWtriii Mssi d 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 183 

honourably to me. I don't wish to discuss the matter, only 
to make myself understood." 

His ability to use this language, and to command himself 
as he did so, was a surprise to Piers. Nothing he disliked 
more than personal altercation ; he shrank from it at almost 
any cost. But the sight of Daniel, the sound of his artificial 
voice, moved him deeply with indignation, and for the first 
time in his life he spoke out. Having done so, he had a 
pleasurable sensation ; he felt his assured manhood. 

Daniel was astonished, disconcerted, but showed no dis- 
position to dose the interview ; turning, he walked along by 
his brother. 

" I suppose I know what you refer to. But let me explain. 
I think my explanation will interest you." 

" No, I'm afraid it will rot," replied Piers quietly. 

" In any case, lend me your ears. You are offended by 
my failure to pay that debt. Weil, my nature is frankness, 
and I will plead guilty to a certain procrastination. I meant 
to send you the money ; I fully meant to do so. But in the 
first place, it took much longer than I expected to realise the 
good old man's estate, and when at length the money came 
into my hands, I delayed and delayed — just as one does, you 
know; let us admit these human weaknesses. And I pro- 
crastinated till I was really ashamed — you follow the 
psychology of the thing? Then I said to myself: Now it is 
pretty certain Piers is not in actual want of this sum, or he 
would have pressed for it. On the other hand, a day may 
come when he will really be glad to remember that I am his 
banker for a hundred and fifty pounds. Yes — I said — I will 
wait till that moment comes ; I will save the money for him, 
as becomes his elder brother. Piers is a good fellow, and will 
understand. VoUA I " 

» Piers kept silence, 
"Tell me, my dear boy," pursued the other. "Alexander 
course paid that little sum he owed you?" 
" He too has preferred to remain my banker." 
" Now I call that very shameful ! " burst out Daniel. " No, 
that's too bad ! " 

" How did you know he owed me money ? " inquired Piers. 

k"How? Why. he told me himself, down at Hawes, after 
11 went. We were talking of you, ot V^*^^ ^'CQM."»i:.\!e. 
alities, and in his bluff, genial wa.7 Ve xVaes wax "'ws* 



I 



184 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

generously you had behaved to him, at a moment when he 
was hard up. He wanted to repay you immediately, and 
asked me to lend him the money For that purpose; un- 
fortunately, I hadn't it to lend. And, to think tha^ after all, 
he never paid you ! A mere fifty pounds ! VJhy, the thing 
is unpardonable ! In my case the sum was substantial enough 
to justify me in retaining it for your future benefit. T 
owe fifty pounds, and shirk payment — no, I call that 
disgraceful. If ever I meet Alexander — ! " 

Piers was coldly amused. When Daniel sought to di 
him into general conversation, with inquiries as to his m< 
of life, and where he dwelt, the younger brother again spoke 
with decision. They were not likely, he said, to see more 
of each other, and he felt as little disposed to give femiliar 
information as to ask it ; whereupon Daniel drew himself up 
with an air of dignified offence, and saying, "I wish you 
better manners," turned on his heel. 

Piers walked on at a rapid pace. Noticing again a well- 
dressed prowler of the pavement, whose approaches this time 
were welcomed, a feeling of nausea came upon him. Htfl 
hailed a passing cab, and drove home. 

A week later, he heard from Mrs. Hannaford that she and 
Olga were established in their own home; she begged him 
to come and see them soon, mentioning an evening when they 
would be glad if he could dine with them. And Piers 
willingly accepted. 

The house was at Campden Hill ; a house of the kind 
known to agents as "desirable," larger than the two ladies 
needed for their comfort, and, as one saw on entering the hall, 
furnished with tasteful care. The work had been supervised 
by Dr. Derwent, who thought that his sister and his niece 
might thus be tempted to live the orderly life so desirable in 
their unfortunate circumstances. When Piers entered, Mrs, 
Hannaford sat alone in the drawing-room ; she still had the 
look of an invalid, but wore a gown which showed to advantage 
the lines of her figure. Otway had been told not to dress, 
and it caused him some surprise to see hts hostess adorned 
as if for an occasion of ceremony. Her hair was done in a 
new way, which changed the wonted character of her face, 



^^ that she looked younger. A bunch of pale flowers reste^^j 
^^^ against her bosom, and breathed delicate perfume about her, flH 
^^M "It Wis discussed," she savd, m a. \o'«(, 'n\^wi'a.\K \cnq^^| 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 185 

"whether we should settle in London or abroad. But we 
didn't like to go away. Our only real friends are in England, 
and we must hope to make more. Olga is so good, now that 
she sees that I really need her. She has been so kind and 
sweet during my illness." 

Whilst they were talking, Miss Hannaford silently made 
her entrance. Piers turned his head, and felt a shock of 
surprise. Not till now had he seen Olga at her best ; he had 
never imagined her so handsome ; it was a wonderful illustra- 
tion of the effect of apparel. She, too, had reformed the 
fashion of her hair, and its tawny abundance was much more 
effective than in the old careless style. She looked taller; 
she stepped with a more graceful assurance, and in offering 
her hand, betrayed consciousness of Otway's admiration in a 
little flush that well became her, 

She had subdued her voice, chastened her expressions. 
The touch of masculinity on which she had prided herself in 
her later -"Bohemian" days, was quite gone. Wondering 
as they conversed. Piers had a difficulty in meeting her look ; 
his eyes dropped to the little silk shoe which peeped from 
beneath her skirt. His senses were gratified ; he forgot for 
the moment his sorrow and unrest. 

The talk at dinner was rather formal. Piers, with his 
indifferent appetite, could do but scanty justice to the dainties 
offered him, and the sense of luxury added a strangeness to 
his new relations with Mrs. Hannaford and her daughter. 
Olga spoke of a Russian novel she had been reading in a 
French translation, and was anxious lo know whether it 
represented life as Otway knew it in Russia. She evinced 
a wider interest in several directions, emphasised — perhaps 
a little too much — her inclination for earnest thought: was 
altogether a more serious person than hitherto. 

Afterwards, when they grouped themselves in the drawing- 
room, this constraint fell away. Mrs. Hannaford dropped a 
remark which awakened memories of their life together at 
Geneva, and Piers turned to her with a bright look. 

" Vou used to play in those days," he said, "and Pve never 
heard you touch a pianoL since." 

There was one in the room, Olga glanced at it, and then 
smilingly at her mother. 
~ " My playing was so very primitive," said Mw, Kasroa.^'aA, 

'h a hugb. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



" I liked it." 

" Because you were a boy then." 

" Let me try to be a boy again. Play something you 
to. One of those bits from 'Tell,' which take me back to 
lakes and the mountains whenever I hear thera. 

Mrs. Hannaford rose, laughing as if ashamed ; Olga lit 
candles on the piano. 

"I shall have to play from memory — and a nice mess 
shall make of it" 

But memory served her for the passages of melody wl 
Piers wished to hear. He listened with deep pleasi 
again in the years when everything he desired seemed a 
certainty of the future, depending only on the flight of time, 
on his becoming "a man." He remembered his vivid joy 
in the pleasures of the moment, the natural happiness now, 
and for years, unknown to him. So long ago, it seemed ; 
yet Mrs. Hannaford, sitting at the piano, looked younger to 
him than in those days. And Olga, whom as a girl of fourteen 
he had not much liked, thinking her both conceited and dull, 
now was a very different person to him, a woman who seemed 
to have only just revealed herself, asserting a power of 
attraction he had never suspected in her. He found himself 
trying to catch glimpses of her face at different angles, as she 
sat listening abstractedly to the music. 

When it was time to go, he took leave with reluctance. 
The talk had grown very pleasantly familiar. Mrs. Hannaford 
said she hoped they would often see him, and the hope had 
an echo in his own thoughts. This house might offer him the 

I refuge he sought when loneliness weighed too heavily. It was 
true, he could not accept the idea with a whole heart ; some 
vague warning troubled his imagination ; but on the way home 
he thought persistently of the pleasure he had experienced, 
and promised himself that it should be soon repeated. 
A melody was singing in his mind ; becoming consdous of 
it, he remembered that it was the air to which his friend 
Moncharmont had set the httle song of Alfred de MusseL 
At Odessa he had been wont to sing it — in a voice whi< " 
Moncharmont declared to have the quality of a very 
tenor, and only to need training. 



" Quand i 



n perd, par tr 
Et sa. %^\\.t. 



lend 
sseL 

] 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 

Le remade au melancoHque 
C'esI: la musiqae 
£t U beaut^. 

Plus oblige et peut davantagc 

Ud beau visage 

Qu'iin homme ann^, 
Et lien n'est meilleur que d'entendre 

Ait doun et tend re 

Jadis aime!" 



it haunted him after he had gone to rest, and for once he 
not mind wakefulness. 

A week passed. On Friday, Piers said to himself thai 
to-morrow he would go in the afternoon to Campden Hill, 
on the chance of finding his friends at home. On Saturday 
morning the post brought him a letter which he saw to be 
from Mrs. Hannaford, and he opened it with pleasant 
anticipation ; but instead of the friendly lines he expected, 
he found a note of agitated appeal. The writer entreated him 
to come and see her exactly at three o'clock ; she was in very 
grave trouble, had the most urgent need of him. Three 
o'clock ; neither sooner or later ; if he could possibly find 
time. If he could not come, would he telegraph an appoint- 
ment for her at his office ? 

With perfect punctuality, he arrived at the house, and in 
the drawing-room found Mrs. Hannaford awaiting him. She 
came forward with both her hands held out ; in her eyes a look 
almost of terror. Her voice, at first, was in choking whispers, 
and the words so confusedly hurried as to be barely 
intelligible. 

" I have sent Olga away — 1 daren't let her know — she will 
be away for several hours, so we can talk — oh, you will help 
me — you will do your best " — 

Perplexed and alarmed, Piers held her hand as he tried to 
calm her. She seemed incapable of telling him what had 
happened, but kept her eyes fixed upon him in a wild entreaty, 
and uttered broken phrases which conveyed nothing to him ; 
he gathered at length that she was in fear of some person. 

" Sit down, and let me hear all about it," he urged. 

" Yes, yes — but I'm so ashamed to speak to you about such 
things. I don't know whether you'll believe me. Oh, the 
shame — the dreadful shame! It's only because tVi«ftw*ai& 
just this hope. How shall I bring m'jseVtVoXeVv'ja^^" 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



I sh^M 

ow shal^^ 

He 
lam e 
aodH 

M 

St, !■ 

king 
f of 

f od9 



"Dear Mrs. Hannaford, we have been friends so 
Trust me to understand you. Of course, of course I 
believe what you say ! " 

"A dreadful, a shameful thing has happened. How 
I tell you ? " Her haggard face flushed scarlet. " My husband 
has given me notice that he is going to sue for a divorce. He 
brings a chaige against me — a false, cruel charge ! It came 
yesterday. I went to the solicitor whose name was given, " 
leamt all I could. I have had to hide it from Olga, and ol 
what it cost me ! At once I thought of you ; then 
seemed impossible to speak to you; then I felt I must, 
must If only you can believe me ! It is— your brother." 

Piers was overcome with amaiement. He sat looking 
into the eyes which stared at him with their agony of 
shame. 

" You mean Daniel ? " he faltered. 

" Yes^ Daniel Otway. It is false — it is false ! I am 
guilty of this ! It seems to me like a hateful plot — if 
could believe anyone so wicked. I saw him last night — Oh, I 
must tell you all, else you'll never believe me — I saw him last 
night How can anyone behave so to a helpless woman ? 
never did him anything but kindness. He has me in his 
power, and he is merciless." 

A passion of disgust and hatred took hold on Piers as 
remembered the meeting in Piccadilly. 

" You mean to say you have put yourself into that felloi 
power ? " he exclaimed. 

" Not willingly ! Oh, not willingly ! I meant only ki 
ness to him. — Yes, I have been weak, 1 know, and 
foolish ! It has gone on so long — You remember when 
first saw him, at Ewell ? I liked him, just as a friend. Ol 
course I behaved foolishly. It was my miserable life — you 
know what my life was. But nothing happened — I mean, L 
never thought of him for a moment as anything but an ordinan 
friend — until I had my legacy." ' ■ 

The look on the listener's face checked her, fl 

" I begin to understand," said Piers, with bitterness. I 

" No, no ! Don't say that — don't speak like that ! " I 

" It's not you I am thinking of, Mrs. Hannaford. As sooB 
as money comes in — But tell me plainly. I have perfod 
confidence in what you say, indeed I have." M 

"It does me good to hear you sa-j *.\a\.\ \ caiv vaW-jtwi »■ 



? I 
his I 

shefl 

1 



tTHE CROWN OF LIFE i8g 

ow that I have begun. It is true, he did ask me to go away 
with him, again and again. But he had no right to do that — 
I was foolish in showing that I liked him. Again and again 1 
forbade him ever to see me ; I tried so hard to break ofl"! It 
was no use. He always wrote, wherever I was, sending his 
letters lo Dr. Derwent to be forwarded. He made me meet 
him at all sorts of places — using threats at last. Oh, what I 
I have gone through I " 

"No doubt," said Piers gently, "you have lent him 
money ? " 

She reddened again ; her head sank. 

"Yes — I have lent him money, when he was in need. Just 
before the death of your father." 

"Once only?" 

" Once — or twice " — > 
I " To be sure. Lately, too, I daresay ? " 
I "Yes"— 

■ "Then you quite understand his character?" 
I " I do now," Mrs. Hannaford replied wretchedly. " But I 
must tell you more. If it were only a suspicion of my 
husband's, I should hardly care at all. But someone must 
have betrayed me to him, and have told deliberate false- 
hoods, I am accused — it was when I was at the seaside 
once — and he came to the same hotel — Oh, the shame, the 
shame I " 

She covered her face with her hands, and turned away. 

" Why," cried Piers, in wrath, " that fellow is quite capable 
of having betrayed you himself. I mean, of lying about you 
for his own purposes." 

"You think he could be so wicked?" 

" I don't doubt it for a moment. He has done his best to 
persuade you lo ruin yourself for him, and he thinks, no 
doubt, that if you are divorced, nothing will stand between 
him and you — in other words, your money." 

"He said, when I saw him yesterday, that now it had come 
to this, I had better lake that step at once. And when I spoke 
of my innocence, he asked who would believe it ? He seemed 
sorry; really he did. Perhaps he is noi so bad as one 
fears?" 

"Where did you see him yesterday?" asked Otway. 
At his lodgings. I was obliged to go and see him as soon 
1 have never been there before. H.t t^.'ti^se.i 



^^pc 



I 



190 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

very kindly. He said of course he should declare 
innocence" — 

" And in the same breath assured you no one would beliei 
it ? And advised you to go off with him at once ? " 

" I know how bad it seems," said Mrs. Hannaford. " 
yet, it is all my own fault — my own long folly. Oh, you 
wonder why I have brought you here to tell you this ! 
because there was no one else I could speak to, as a frien<^J 
and I felt I should go mad if I couldn't ask someone's advice. 
Of course I could go to a lawyer— but I mean someone who 
would sympathise with me. 1 am not very strong ; you know 
1 have been ill : this blow seems almost more than I can bear ; 
I thought I would ask you if you could suggest anything — if 
you would see him, and try to arrange something." She 
looked at Piers distractedly. " Perhaps money would help. 
My husband has been having money from me ; perhaps if we< 
offered him more ? Ought I to see him, myself? But there " 
ill-feeling between us ; and I fear lie would be glad to injui 
me, glad t " 

" I will see Daniel," said Piers, trying to see hope whi 
reason told him there was none. "With him, at all event 
money can do much." 

" You will ? You think you may be able to help 
in such terror when I think of my brother hearing of this 
And Irene ! Think, if it becomes public— everyone talk! 
about the disgrace — what will Irene do? Just at the time 
her marriage ! " She held out her hands, pleadingly, 
would be glad to save Irene from such a shame?" 

Piers had not yet seen the scandal from this point of viei 
It came upon him with a shock, and he stood speechless. 

" My husband hates them," pursued Mrs. Hannaford, 
you don't know what his hatred means. Just for that aloni 
he will do his worst against me — hoping to throw disgrace 01 
the Derwents." 

" I doubt very much," said Piers, who had been thinkii 
hard, " whether, in any event, this would affect the Derwents 
people's opinion." 

"You don't think so? But do you know Arnold Jacks? 
I feel sure he is the kind of man who would resent bitterly such 
a thing as this. He is very proud — proud in just that kind of 
way— ndo you understand ? Oh, I know it would make troubli 
between him and Irene," 



bl^ 



^H THE CROWN OF LIFE 191 

" In that case," Piers began vehemently, and at once checked 
himself. 

"What were you going to say?" 

" Nothing that could help us." 

When he raised his eyes again, Mrs. Hannaford was gazing 
at him with pitiful entreaty. 

" For her sake," she s^d, in a low, shaken voice, " you will 
try to do something ? " 

"If only I can !" 

"Yes! I know you ! You are good and generous. — It ought 
surely to be possible to stop this before it gets talked about? 
If I were guilty, it would be different But I have done no 
wrong; I have only been weak and foolish. I thought of 
going straight to my brother, but there is the dreadful thought 
that he might not believe me. It is so hard for a woman 
accused in this way to seem innocent ; men always see the 
dark side. He has no very good opinion of me, as it is, I 
know he hasn't. I turned so naturally to you ; I felt you would 
do your utmost for me in my misery. — If only my husband 
can be brought to see that I am not guilty, that he wouldn't 
win the suit, then perhaps he would cease from it. I will give 
all the money I can— all I have ! " 

Piers stood reflecting. 

" Tell me all the details you have leamt," he said. " What 
evidence do they rely on ? " 

Her head bowed, her voice broken, she told of place and 
time and the assertions of so-called witnesses. 

" Why has this plot against you been a year in ripening ? " 
asked Otway. 

" Perhaps we are wrong in thinking it a plot. My husband 
may only just have discovered what he thinks my guilt in some 
chance way. If so, there is hope." 

They sat mute for a minute or two. 

" If only I can hide this from Olga," said Mrs. Harmaford. 
"Think how dreadful it is for me, with her! We were going 
to ask you to spend another evening with us — but how is it 
possible? If I send you the mvitation, will you make an 
answer excusing yourself — saying you are too busy? To 
prevent Olga from wondering. How hard, how cruel it is ! 
just when we had made ourselves a home here, and might have 
^^Men happy ! " 
^H^iers stood up, and tried to speak words of e.ncQMsi'ijKWCT^, 



192 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

The charge being utterly false, at worst a capable solicitor 
might succeed in refuting it. He was about to take his leave, 
when he remembered that he did not know Daniel's address : 
Mrs. Hannaford gave it. 

" I am sorry you went there," he said. 

And as he left the room, he saw the woman's eyes follow 
him with that look of woe which signals a tottering mind. 



.'^ 



CHAPTER XXIII 

7" IT H OUT investigating her motives, Irene Derwent 
deferred as long as possible her meeting with the 
man to whom she had betrothed herself. Nor did Arnold 
Jacks evince any serious impatience in this matter. They 
corresponded in affectionate terms, exchanging letters once 
a week or so. Arnold, as it chanced, was unusually busy, 
his particular section of the British Empire supplying sundry 
problems just now not to be hurriedly dealt with by those in 
authority ; there was much drawing-up of reportSj and trans- 
lating of facts into official language, in Arnold's secretarial 
department. Of these things he spoke to his bride-elect as 
freely as discretion allowed ; and Irene found his letters 
interesting. 

The ladies in Cheshire were forewarned of the new Irene 
who was about to visit them ; political differences did not at 
all affect their kindliness; indeed, they saw with satisfaction 
the girl's keen mood of loyalty to the man of her choice. She 
brought with her the air of Greater Britain ; she spoke much, 
and well, of the destinies of the Empire. 

" I see it all more clearly since this bit of Colonial experi- 
ence," she said. "Our work in the world is marked out for 
us ; we have no choice, unless we turn cowards. Of course 
we shall be hated by other countries, more and more. We 
shall be accused of rapacity, and arrogance, and everything 
else that's disagreeable in a large way ; we can't help that. If 
we enrich ourselves, that is a legitimate reward for the task 
we perform. England means liberty and enlightenment : let 
England spread to the ends of the earth ! We mustn't be 
afraid of greatness ! We can't slop — still less draw back. 
Our politics have become our religion. Our rulers have a 
greater responsibility than was ever known in the world's 
history — and they will be equal to it t " 
^m The listeners felt that a little clapp\n% oi \.\\e Vwi&s. 's'aiiA. 



w 



I 

I 



1 

con- 
ause. 
more 
ay to 
eve^H 

,lsh^ 
her 
der- 
ered 



194 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

have been appropriate ; they exchanged a glance, as ir con^ 
suiting each other as to the permissibility of sudi applause. 
But Irene's eloquent eyes and glowing colour excited more 
admiration than criticism j in their hearts they wished joy 
the young life which would go on its way through an ev» 
changing world long after they and their old-fashioned idt 
had passed into silence. 

In a laughing moment, Irene told them of the proposal si 
had received from TralTord Romaine. This betokened her 
high spirits, and perchance indicated a wish to make it under- 
stood that her acceptance of Arnold Jacks was no unconsidered 
impulse. The ladies were interested, hut felt this confiden( 
something of an indiscretion, and did not comment upon ' 
They hoped she would not be tempted to impart her secret 
persons less capable of respecting it. 

During these days there came a definite invitation from 
Mrs. Borisoff, who was staying in Hampshire, at the house 
of her widowed mother, and Irene gladly accepted it. She 
wished to see more of Helen Borisoff, whose friendship, she 
felt, might have significance for her at this juncture of life. 
The place and its inhabitants, she found on arriving, answered 
very faithfully to Helen's description; an old manor-house, 
beautifully situated, hard by a sleepy village ; its mistress a 
rather prim woman of sixty, conventional in every thought and 
act, but too good-natured to be aggressive, and living with her 
two unmarried daughters, whose sole care was the spiritual 
and material well-being of the village poor. 

"Where I come from, I really don't know," said Helen 
her friend. "My father was the staidest of country geni 
men. I'm a sport, plainly. You will see my mother wati 
^ me every now and then with apprehension. I fancy it 
' surprises her that I really do behave myself — that 1 don't 
even say anything shocking. With you, the dear old lady is 
simply delighted ; I know she prays that I may not harm you. 
You are the first respectable acquaintance I have made since 
my marriage." 

In the lovely old garden, in the still meadows, and on the 
sheep-cropped hillsides, they had many a long talk. Now 
that Irene was as good as married, Mrs. Borisoff used ' ' 
reserve in speaking of her private circumstances ; she expli 
the terms on which she stood with her husband. 

"jVfarriage, my dear girl, is of many kinds; absurd to s| 



:ual 

'3m 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 195 

of it as one and indivisible. There's the marriage of interest, 
the marriage of reason, the marriage of love ; and each of 
these classes can be almost infinitely subdivided. For the 
majority of folk, I'm quite sure it would be better not to 
choose their own husbands and wives, but to leave it to 
sensible friends who wish them well. In England, at all 
events, they think they marry for love, but that's mere 
nonsense. Did you ever know a love match? , I never even 
heard of one, in my little world.- — Well," she added, with her 
roguish smile, " putting yourself out of the question." 

Irene's countenance betrayed a passing inquietude. She 
had an air of reflection ; averted her eyes ; did not speak. 

"The average male or female is never in love," pursued 
Helen. " They are incapable of it. And in this matter I — 
mot qui vmis park—-axa average. At least, I think I am ; all 
evidence goes to prove it, so far, I married my husband 
because I thought him the most interesting man I had ever 
met That was eight years ago, when 1 was two-and- twenty. 
Curiously, I didn't try lo persuade myself that I was in love ; 
I take credit for this, my dear! No, it was a marriage of 
reason. I had money, which Mr. Borisoff had not He 
really hked me, and does stilL But we are reasonable as 
ever. If we felt obliged to live always together, we should be 
very uncomfortable. As it is, I travel for six months when 
the humour takes me, and it works h merveille. Into my 
husband's life, I don't inquire ; 1 have no right to do so, and 
I am not by nature a busybody. As for my own affairs, Mr. 
Borisoff is not uneasy; he has great faith in me — which, 
speaking frankly, I quite deserve. I am, my dear Irene, a 
most respectable woman — there comes in my parentage." 

"Then," said Irene, looking at her own beautiful finger- 
nails, "your experience, after all, is disillusion." 

" Moderate disillusion," replied the other, with her humor- 
ously judicial air. '"I am not grievously disappointed. I 
still find my husband an interesting — a most interesting — 
man. Both of us being so thoroughly reasonable, our 
marriage may be called a success." 

" Clearly, then, you don't think love a sine ^uA non ? " 

"Clearly not. Love has nothing whatever to do with ■ 
marri^e, in the statistical — the ordinary — sense of the term. 
When I say love, I mean Love — not domestic a,ff«L'wiv>. 
foniage is a practical concern of manVm4M^M%^■,^-R>■^«-■^'^ 



p 



196 THE CROWN OF LIFE ■ 

a personal experience of the very few. Think of our common 
phrases, such as 'choice of a wife'; think of the perfectly 
sound advice given by sage elders to the young who are 
thinking of marriage, implying deliberation, care. What have- 
these things to do with Love ? You can no more choose ti 
be a lover, than to be a poet. Nasciiur nan Jit— oh yes, | 
know my Latin. Generally, the man or woman bom for Lov( 
is bom for nothing else." 

"A deplorable state of things!" exclaimed Irene, laughing.l 

"Yes^orno. Who knows? Such people ought to die youna 
liut I don't say that it is invariably the case. To be capabU 
of loving, and at the same time to have other faculties, and tT 
will to use them — ah ! There's your complete human being.^ 

" I think " — Irene began, and stopped, her voice failing. 

"You think, beiU Irmel" 

" Oh, I was going to say that all this seems to me s 
and right. It doesn't disturb me," 

"Why should it?" 

" I think I will teil you, Helen, that ray motive in marryia 
is the same as yours was." 

"I surmised it." 

" But, you know, there the similarity will end. It is qui^l 
certain" — she laughed — "that I shall have no six-months 
vacations. At present, I don't think I shall desire them." 

" No. To speak frankly, I augur well of your marriage." 

These words affected Irene with a sense of relief. She had 
imagined that Mrs. Eorisoff thought otherwise. A brighj 
smile sunned her countenance ; Helen, observing it, smilefl 
too, but more thoughtfully, fl 

" Vou must bring your husband to see me in Paris somfl 

time next year. By the bye, you don't think he will disapprovfl 

I ofme?" ■ 

' " Do you imagine Mr. Jacks " — ■ 

"What were you going to say?" H 

Irene had stopped as if for want of the right word. Shfl 
was reflecting. H 

" It never struck me," she said, " that he would wish tfl 

regulate my choice of friends. Vet I suppose it would bfl 

within his right?" fl 

I "Conventionally speaking, undoubtedly." H 

"DorCi think I am in uncertainty about Ibis particulafl 
I instance," said Irene. "No, he ha.s already told me that b^| 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 197 

fted you. But of the general question, I had never 
Tought" 

" My dear, who does, or can, think before marriage of all 
that it involves? After all, the pleasures of life consist 
largely in the unexpected." 

Irene paced a few yards in silence, and when she spoke 
again it was of quite another subject, 

Whether this sojourn with her experienced and philosophical 
friend made her better able to face the meeting with Arnold 
Jacks was not quite certain. At moments she fancied so ; 
she saw her position as wholly reasonable, void of anxiety ; 
she was about to marry the man she liked and respected — 
safest of all forms of marriage. But there came troublesome 
moods of misgiving. It did not (latter her se!f-esleem to 
think of herself as excluded from the number of those who 
are capable of love; even in Helen BorisofTs view, the elect, 
the fortunate. Of love, she had thought more in this last 
week or two than in all her years gone by. Assuredly, she 
knew it not, this glory of the poets. Yet she could inspire it 
in others ; at all events, in one, whose rhythmic utterance of 
the passion ever and again came back to her mind. 

A temptation had assailed her (but she resisted it) to repeat 
those verses of Piers Otway to her friend, And in thinking of 
them, she half reproached herself for the total silence she had 
preserved towards their author. Perhaps he was uncertain 
whether the verses had ever reached her. It seemed unkind. 
There would have been no harm in letting him know that she 
had read the lines, and — as poetry— liked them. 

Was her temper prosaic? It would at any time have 
surprised her to be told so. Owing to her father's influence, 
she had given much time to scientific studies, but she knew 
herself by no means defective in appreciation of art and 
literature. By whatever accident, the friends of her earlier 
years had been notable rather for good sense and good feel- 
ing than for [esthetic fervour ; the one exception, her cousin 
Olga, had rather turned her from thoughts about the beautiful, 
for Olga seemed emotional in excess, and was not without 
taint of affectation. In Helen Borisoff she knew for the first 
time a woman who cared supremely for music, poetry, pictures, 
and who combined with this a vigorous practical intelligence. 
Helen could burn with enthusiasm, yel never et.^?s^4. \«.\^j^ 
to suspicion of tveat-mindedness. VosWnn^ ■wo.^ V« ^k-W'*! 



ri^a THE CROWN OF LIFE ^M 

but no one spoke more ardently of the things she admired^H 
Her acquaintance with recent literature was wider than that^H 
of anyone Irene had known; she taiked of it in the most^f 
interesting way, giving her friend new lights, inspiring her 



I 

L 



energy of thought. And Irene was sorry to go 
away. She vaguely felt that this companionship was of 
moment in the history of her mind ; she wished for a larger 
opportunity of benefiting by it. 

Dr. Derwent and his son were now at Cromer; there Irew 
was to join them ; and thither, presently, would come Amol^ 
Jacks. 

On the day of her departure there arose a storm of winffi 
and rain, which grew more violent as she approached thJ 
Norfolk coast ; and nothing could have pleased her better,! 
Her troubled mood harmonised with the darkened, roaring 
sea; moreover, this atmospheric disturbance made some- 
thing to talk about on arriving. She suffered no embarrass- 
ment at the meeting with her father and Eustace, who of 
course awaited her at the station. To their eyes, Irenel 
was in excellent spirits, though rather wearied after thn 
tiresome journey. She said very little about her stay infl 
Hampshire. 1 

The last person in the world with whom Irene would have 
chosen to converse about her approaching marriage was her 
excellent brother Eustace ; but the young man was not content 
with offering his good wishes ; to her surprise, he took the^ 
opportunity of their being alone together on the beach, toa 
speak with most unwonted warmth about Arnold Jacks. ■ 

" I really was glad when I heard of it ! To tell you ttuj^ 
truth, I had hoped for it. If there is a man living whom I 
respect, it is Arnold, There's no end to his good qualities. 
A downright good and sensible fellow I " 

" Of course I'm very glad you think so, Eustace," replied, 
his sister, stooping to pick up a shell. - 

"Indeed I do. I've often thought that one's sistet'd 
choice in marriage most be a very anxious thing; 
have worried me awfully if I had felt any doubts aboi^ 
the man." 

Irene was inclined to laugh, 

" It's very good of you," she said. 

"Bat I mean it. Girls haven't quite a fair chance, yqj 
Jrnoir. They can't see much ot mcv\." 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



199 



i 



" If it comes to that," said Irene merrily, " men seem to me 
in much the same position." 

" Oh, it's so different. Girls — women — are good. There's 
nothing unpleasant to be known about them." 

"Upon my word, Eustace! On n' est pas plus galanl! 
But I really feel it my duty to warn you against that 
amiable optimism. If you were so kind as to be uneasy on my 
account, I shall be still more so on yours. Your position, my 
dear boy, is a little perilous." 

Eustace laughed, not without some amiable confusion, 
ve himself a countenance, he smote at pebbles with the head 
' his walking-stick. 

" Oh, I shan't marry for ages ! " 

"Thai shows rather more prudence than faith in your 
loctrine." 

" Never mind. Our subject is Arnold Jacks. He's a 
splendid feliow. The best and most sensible fellow I 
know." 

It was not the eulogy most agreeable to Irene in 
present state of mind. She hastened to dismiss the topic, 
but thought with no little surprise and amusement of 
Eustace's self-revelation. Brothers and sisters seldom know 
each other; and these two, by virtue of widely differing 
characteristics, were scarce more than mutually well-disposed 
strangers. 

Less emphatic in commendation, Dr. Derwent appeared 
not less satisfied with his future son-in-law. Irene's scrutiny, 
sharpened by intense desire to read her father's mind, could 
detect no qualification of his contentment. As his habit was, 
the Doctor, having found an opportunity, broached the subject 
with humorous abruptness. 

" It's no business of mine ; I don't wish lo be impertinent ; 
but if I tnay be allowed to express approval " — 

Irene raised her eyes for a moment, bestowing upon him a 
look of affection and gratitude. 

"He's a thorough Englishman, and that means a good deal 
in the laudatory sense. The best sort of husband for an 
English girl, I've no manner of doubt." 

Dr. Derwent was not effusive ; he had said as much a 
cared lo say on the more intimate aspect of the matter. 
he spoke long and carefully regarding things practical. Itette 
had his entire confidence ; nothing m ^e ^Xa.\R. cS.\ss. •a"- 



w 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



"1 

the 

:ient 
ohn 

e, iM 
1 a^H 

lave 
s as 
'our 

e is ^^ 
n is^l 

her.S 
and^H 
t asH 
iraysH 



needed to be kept from her knowledge. He spoke of the 
duty he owed to his two children respectively, and in sufficient 
detail of Arnold jacks' circumstances. On the death of John 
Jacks (which the Doctor suspected was not remote) Arnold 
would be a something more than a well-to-do man ; his wife, '" 
she aimed that way, might look for a social position such 
the world envied. 

" And on the whole," he added, " as society must have 
leaders, I prefer that they should be people with brsuns as 
well as money. The ambition is quite legitimate. Do your 
part in civilising the drawing-room, as Arnold conceives he is 
doing his on a larger scale. A good and intelligent woman 
no superfluity in the world of wealth nowadays." 

Irene tried to believe that this ambition appealed to her. 
Nay, at times it certainly did so, for she liked the brilliant am' 
the commanding. On the other hand, it seemed imperfect a 
an ideal of life. In its undercurrents her thought was alwayt 
more or less turbid. 

A letter from Arnold announced his coming. A day after, 
he arrived. 

Many times as she had enacted in fancy the scene of their 
meeting, Irene found in the reality something quite unlike her 
anticipation. Arnold, it was true, behaved much as she 
expected ; he was perfect in well-bred homage ; he said th< 
right things in the right tone; his face declared a sincei 
emotion, yet he restrained himself within due limits of respei 
The result in Irene's mind was disappointment and fear. 

He gave her too little ; he seemed to ask too much. 

The first interview — in a private sitting-room at the hon 
where they were all staying — lasted about half an hour; it 
wrought a change in Irene for which she had not at all 
prepared herself, though the doubts and misgivings which had 
of late beset her pointed darkly to such a revulsion of feeling. 
She had not understood; she could not understand, until 
enlightened by the very experience. Alone once more, she 
sat down all tremulous ; pallid as if she had suffered a shock 
of fright. An indescribable sense of immodesty troubled her 
nerves : she seemed to have lost all self-respect : the thought 
of going forth again, of facing her father and brother, was 
scarcely to be borne. This acute distress presently gave way 
to a dull pain, a sinking at the heart. She felt miserabl; 
a/one. She longed for a friend o^ Wi own ^ex, wot oecessarilj 



ay I 

I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE aoi 

to speak of what she was going through, but for the moral 
support of a safe companionship. Never had she known such 
a feeling of isolation, and of over-great responsibihty. 

A few tears relieved her. Irene was not prone to weeping ; 
only a great crisis of her fate would have brought her to this 
extremity. 

It was over in a quarter of an hour — or seemed so. She 
had recovered command of her nerves, had subdued the 
excess of emotion. As for what had happened, that was 
driven into the background of her mind, to await examination 
at leisure. She was a new being, but for the present could 
bear herself in the old way. Before leaving her room, she 
stood before the looking-glass, and smiled. Oh yes, it would 
do! 

Arnold Jacks was in the state of mind which exhibited him 
at his very best. An air of discreet triumph sat well on this 
elegant Englishman ; it prompted him to continuous discourse, 
which did not lack its touch of brilliancy; his features had an 
uncommon animation, and his slender, well-knit figure — of 
course clad with perfect seaside propriety — appeared to gain 
an inch, so gallantly he held himself. He walked the cliffs 
like one on guard over his country. Without for a moment 
becoming ridiculous, Arnold, with his first-rate English breed- 
ing, could carry off a great deal of radiant self-consciousness. 

Side by side, he and Irene looked very well; there was 
suitability of stature, harmony of years. Arnold's clean-cut 
visage, manly yet refmed, did no discredit to the choice of a 
girl even so striking in countenance as Irene. They drew the 
eyes of passers-by. Conscious of this, Irene now and then 
flinched imperceptibly; but her smile held good, and its 
happiness flattered the happy man. 

Eustace Derwent departed in a day or two, having an 
invitation to join friends in Scotland. He had vastly enjoyed 
the privilege of listening to Arnold's talk. Indeed, to his 
sister's amusement, he plainly sought to model himself on Mr. 
Jacks, in demeanour, in phraseology, and in sentiments ; not 
*frtrithout success. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

ON one of those evenings at the seaside, Dr. Derwent, 
glancing over the newspapers, came upon a letter signed 
" Lee Hannaford." It had reference to some current dispute 
about the merits of a new bullet Hannaford, writing with 
authority, criticised the invention; he gave particulars (the 
result of an experiment on an old horse) as to its mode of 
penetrating flesh and shattering bone ; there was a gusto in 
his style, that of the true artist in bloodshed. Pointing out 
the signature to Arnold Jacks, Dr. Derwent asked in a 
subdued tone, as when one speaks of something shameful ; 

" Have you seen or heard of him lately ? " 

"About ten days ago," replied Arnold. "He was at the 
Hyde Wilsons', and he had the impertinence to congratulate 
me. He did it, too, before other people, so that I couldn't 
very well answer as I wished. Vou are aware, by the bye, tha^J 
he is doing very well — belongs to a firm of manufacturers oS 
explosives 7 " <H 

" Indeed ? — I wish he would explode his own head off." fl 

The Doctor spoke with most unwonted fierceness. AmolBB 
Jacks, without verbally seconding the wish, showed by l^J 
uneasy smile that he would not have mourned the decease w^ 
this relative of the Derwents. Mrs. Hannaford's position 
involved no serious scandal, but Arnold had a strong dislike 
for any sort of social irregularity ; here was the one detail of 
his future wife's family circumstances which he desired to 
forget. What made it more annoying than it need have been 
was his surmise that Lee Hannaford nursed rancour against 
the Derwents, and would not lose an opportunity of venting 
it. In the public congratulation of which Arnold spoke, there 
had been a distinct touch of malice. It was not impossiU 
that the man hinted calumnies with regard to his wife, a 
under the circumstances, slander of that kind was the i 
diWcuk thing to deal with. 



)i venimg 
>ke, there 
mpossiti^H 
ffife, anfl 

J 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 203 

But in Irene's society these unwelcome thoughts were soon 
dismissed. With the demeanour of his betrothed, Arnold 
was abundantly satisfied; he saw in it the perfect medium 
between demonstrativeness and insensibiUty. Without ever 
having reflected on the subject, he felt that this was how a 
girl of entire refinement should behave in a situation demand- 
ing supreme delicacy. Irene never seemed in "a coming-on 
disposition," to use the phrase of a young person who had not 
the advantage of English social training ; it was evidently her 
wish to behave, as far as possible, with the simplicity of mere 
friendship. In these days, Mr, Jacks, for the first time, ceased 
to question himself as to the prudence of the step he had 
taken. Hitherto he had been often reminded that, socially 
speaking, he might have made a better marriage ; he had felt 
that Irene conquered somewhat against his will, and that he 
wooed her without quite meaning to do so. On the clifls and 
the sands at Cromer, these indecisions vanished. The girl 
had never looked to such advantage; he had never been so 
often apprised of the general admiration she excited. Beyond 
doubt, she would do him credit — in Arnold's view the first 
qualification in a wife. She was really very intelligent, could 
hold her own in any company, and with experience might 
become a positively brilliant woman. 

For caresses, for endearments, the time was not yet ; that 
kind of thing, among self-respecting people of a certain class, 
came only with the honeymoon. Yet Arnold never for a 
moment doubted that the girl was very fond of him. Of 
course it was for his sake that she had refused Trafford 
Romaine^a most illuminating incident. That she was proud 
of him, went without saying. He noied with satisfaction how 
thoroughly she had embraced his political views, what a 
charming Imperialist she had become. In short, everything 
promised admirably, At moments, Arnold fell the burning of 
a lover's impatience. 

They parted. The Derwents returned to London ; Arnold 
set off to pay a hasty visit or two in the North. The wedding 
was to take place a couple of months hence, and the pair 
would spend their Christmas in Egypt. 

A few days after her arrival in Bryanston Square, Irene 
went to see the Hannafords. She found her aunt in a 
deplorable stale, unable to converse, lookm?, as \^ <3w •&«. 
verge of a serious illness. Olga be\iaved sttaTxt^X-^ nN^^ «vis,\^ 



^H 304 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



harassing trouble of which she might not speak. It was i 
painful visit, and on her return home Irene talked of it to h 
father. 

" Something uTetched is going on of which we don't know,"-!! 
she declared. " .'Anyone could see it. Olga is keeping some^ 
miserable secret, and her mother looks as if she wei 
driven mad." 

" That ruffian, I suppose," said the Doctor. " ^Vhat can | 
be doing ? " 

The next day he saw his sister. He came home with] 
gloomy countenance, and called Irene into his study. 

" You were right. Something very bad indeed is going o 
so bad that I hardly like to speak to you about it. ~ 
secrecy is impossible ; we must use our common sen 
Hannaford is bringing a suit for divorce." 

Irene was so astonished that she merely gazed at her father, 
waiting his explanations. Under her eyes Dr. Derwent suffered 
an increase of embarrassment, which tended to relieve itself 
in anger. I 

"It will kill her," he exclaimed, with a nervous gestuiefl 
"And then, if justice were done, that scoundrel would bd 
hanged I " ^ 

" You mean her husband ? " jB 

"Yes. Though I'm not sure that there isn't another wlw9 
deserves the name. — She wants to see you, Irene, and I thlnn 
you must go at once. She says she has things to tell you that 
will make her mind easier. I'm going to send a nutse to be 
with her : she mustn't be left alone. It's lucky I went to-day. 
I won't answer for what may happen in four-and- twenty hours. 
Olga isn't much use, you know, though she's doing > ' ' 
she can." 

It was about one o'clock. Saying she would be able t 
lunch at her aunt's house, Irene forthwith made ready, an 
drove to Camf)den Hill. She was led into the drawing-rooM!, 
and sat there, alone, for five minutes ; then Olga entered. Tb/t 
girls advanced to each other with a natural gesture of distres 

" She's asleep, I'm glad to say," Olga whispered, as if stil 
in a sickroom. " I persuaded her to lie down. I don't thi 
she has closed her eyes the last two or ihree nights. Can yOU 
wait ? Oh, do, if you can ! She does so want to see you." 
But why, dear? Of course 1 will wait; but why i 
she ask for me?" 



^m THE CROWN OF LIFE 205 

^^31ga related all that had come to pass, in her knowledge. 
Only by ceaseless importunity had she constrained her mother 
to reveal the cause of an anguish which could no longer be 
disguised. The avowal had been made yesterday, not long 
before Dr. Derwent's coming to the house. 

" I wanted to tell you, but she had forbidden me to speak 
to anyone. What's the use of trying to keep such a thing 
secret? If uncle had not come, I should have telegraphed 
for him. Of course he made her tell him, and it has put her 
at rest for a little ; she fell asleep as soon as she lay down. 
Her dread is that we shan't believe her. She wants, I think, 
only to declare to you that she has done no wrong." 

" As if I could douht her word ! " 

Irene tried to shape a question, but could not speak. Her 
cousin also was mute for a moment. Their eyes met, and 
fell. 

" You remember Mr. Otway's brother ? " said Olga, in an 
unsteady voice, and then ceased. 

"He? Daniel Otway?" 

Irene had turned palej she spoke under her breath. At 
once there recurred to her the unexplained incident at Malvern 
Station. 

" I knew mother was foolish in keeping up an acquaintance 
with him," Olga answered, with some vehemence. " I detested 
ihe man, what I saw of him. And 1 suspect — of course mother 
won't say^he has been having money from her." 

An exclamation of revolted feeling escaped Irene. She 
could not speak her thoughts ; they were painful almost 
beyond endurance. She could not even meet her cousin's 
look. 

" It's a hideous thing to talk about," Olga pursued, her head 
bent and her hands crushing each other, "no wonder it 
seems to be almost driving her mad. What do you think she 
did, as soon as she received the notice ? She sent for Piers 
Otway, and told him, and asked him to help her. He came 
in the afternoon, when I was out. Think how dreadful it 
must have been for her ! " 

" How could Ae help her ? " asked Irene, in a strangely 
subdued lone, still without raising her eyes. 

"By seeing his brother, she thought, and getting him, 
perhaps, to persuade my father — how I hale the name ! — that 
there were no grounds for such an action," 



ao6 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

"What" — Irene forced each syliabie from her lips — ' 
are the grounds alleged ? " 

Olga began a reply, but the first word choked her. 
self-command gave way, she sobbed, and turned to 
her face. 

"You, too, are being tried beyond your strength," 
Irene, whose womanhood fortified itself in these moments 
wretched doubt and shame. " Come, we must have soi 
lunch whilst aunt is asleep." 

" I want lo get it all over — to tell you as much as I know, _ 
said the other. " Mother says there is not even an appearanwr' 
of wrong-doing against her — that she can only be accused by 
deliberate falsehood. She hasn't told me more than that^- 
and how can I ask ? Of course he is capable of everything 
— of any wickedness ! " 

" Vou mean Daniel Otway?" 

"No — her husband — I will never again call him by 
other name." 

" Do you know whether Piers Otway has seen his brotheri 

" He hadn't up to yesterday, when he sent mother a 
saying that the man was away, and couldn't be heard of.' 

With an angry effort Olga recovered her self-possescif 
Apart from the natural shame which afflicted her, she seemei 
to experience more of indignation and impatience than any 
other feeling. Growing calmer, she spoke almost with bitter- 
ness of her mother's folly. 

" I told her once, quite plainly, that Daniel Otway wasn't 
the kind of man she ought to be friendly with. She was 
offended : it was one of the reasons why we couldn't go on 
living together. I believe, if the truth were known, it was 
worry about him that caused her break-down in Health. She's 
a weak, soft-nalured woman, and he — I know very well what he 
is. He and the other one — both Piers Otway's brothers — have 
always been worthless creatures. She knew it well enough, 
yet — ! I suppose their mother " — 

She broke off in a tone of disgust. Irene, looking at 
with more attentiveness, waited for what she would next say; 

"Of course you remember," Olga added, after a pai 
" that they are only half-brothers to Piers Otway ? " 

" Of course I do." 

" His mother must have been a very different woman. 
have heard — ? " 



hmg 
mei^^ 



^H THE CROWN OF LIFE 207 

They exchanged looks. Irene nodded, and averted her 
eyes, murmuring, "Aunt explamed to me, after his father's 
death." 

" One would have supposed," said Oiga, " that they would 
turn into the honourable men, and he the scamp. Nature 
doesn't seem to care much about setting us a moral lesson." 

And she laughed—^ short, bitter laugh. Irene, her brows 
knit in painful thought, kept silence. 

They were going to the dining-room, when a servant made 
known to them that Mrs. Hannaford was asking for her daughter. 

" Do have something to eat," said Olga, " and I'll tell her 
you are here. Vou shall have lunch first; I insist upon it, 
and I'll join you in a moment." 

In a quarter of an hour, Irene went up to her aunt's room. 
Mrs. Hannaford was sitting in an easy-chair, placed so that a 
pale ray of sunshine fell upon her. She rose, feebly, only to 
fall back again; her hands were held out in pitiful appeal, and 
tears moistened her cheeks. Beholding this sad picture, 
Irene forgot the doubt that ofTended her; she was all soft 
compassion. The suffering woman dung about her neck, hid 
her face against her bosom, sobbed and moaned. 

They spoke together till dusk. The confession which Mrs. 
Hannaford made to her niece went further than that elicited 
from her either by Olga or Dr. Derwent. In broken sentences, 
in words of shamefaced incoherence, but easily understood, 
she revealed a passion which had been her torturing secret, 
and a temptation against which she had struggled year after 
year. The man was unworthy ; she had long known it ; she 
suffered only the more. She had been imprudent, once or 
twice all but reckless, never what is called guilty. Convinced 
of the truth of what she heard, Irene drew a long sigh, and 
became almost cheerful in her ardour of solace and encour^e- 
menl. No one had ever seen the Irene who came forth under 
this stress of circumstance ; no one had ever heard the voice 
with which she uttered her strong heart. The world? Who 
cared for the world ? Let it clack and grin ! They would 
defend the truth, and quietly wait the issue. No more 
weakness ! Brain and conscience must now play their part. 

" But if it should go against me ? If I am made free of that 

, "Then be free of him \" exclaimed the girl, her eyes flashing 
BJ^ugh tears. " Be glad ! " 



2o8 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

" No — no ! I am afraid of myself" — 

"We will help you. When you are well again, your 
will be stronger to resist. Not that — never that ! You ki 
ii is impossible." 

" I know. And there is one thing that would really mi 
it so. I haven't told you — another thing I had to say — why 
wanted so to see you," 

Irene looked kindly into the agitated face. 

" It's about Piers Otway. He came to see us here. I 
formed a hope" — 

"Olga?" 

" Yes. Oh, if that could be ! " 

She caught the girl's hand in her hot palms, and seei 
to entreat her for a propitious word. Irene was very 
thinking ; and at length she smiled. 

" Who can say ? Olga is good and clever " — 

" It might have been ; I know it might. But after this ? 

" More likely than not," said Irene, with a half-absent It 
" this would help to bring it about." 

" Dear, only your marriage could [have changed him- 
nothing else. Oh, I am sure, nothing else ! He has 
warmest and truest heart ! " 

Irene sat with bowed head, her lips compressed ; 
smiled again, but more faintly. In the silence there aouni 
a soft tap at the door. 

" I will see who it is," said Irene. 

Olga stood without, holding a letter. She whispered that 
the handwriting of the address (to Mrs. Hannaford) was Piers 
Otway's, and that possibly this meant important news. Irene 
took the letter, and re-entered the room. It was necessary to 
light the gas before Mrs. Hannaford could read the sheet that 
trembled in her hand. 1 

" What I feared I He can do nothing." J 

She held the letter to Irene, who perused it. Piers heffiA 
by saying that as result of a note he had posted yesterdm^ 
Daniel had this morning called upon him at his office. Thm 
had had long talk. 

" He declared himself quite overcome by what bad happened, 
and said he had been away from town endeavouring to get 
at an understanding of the so-called evidence against him, 
Possibly his inquiries might effect something; as yet Ihi 
irere useless. He was very vague, and did not 



they 

i 



THE CROWN OF LIFE aog 

could not make him answer simple questions. There is no 
honesty in the man. Unfortunately I have warrant for saying 
this, on other accounts. Believe me when I tell you that the 
life he leads makes him unworthy of your lightest thought. 
He is utterly, hopelessly ignoble. It is a hateful memory 
that I, who feel for you a deep respect and affection, was the 
cause of your coming to know him. 

" But for the fear of embarrassing you, I should have 
brought this news, instead of writing it. If you are still 
keeping your trouble a secret, I beseech you to ease your 
mind by seeing Dr. Derwent, and telling him everything. It 
is plain that your defence must at once be put into legal hands. 
Your brother is a man of the world, and much more than 
that ; he will not, cannot, refuse to believe you, and his 
practical aid will comfort you in every way. Do not try to 
hide the thing even from your daughter ; she is of an age to 
share your suffering, and to alleviate it by her affection. 
Believe me, silence is mistaken delicacy. You are innocent ; 
you are horribly wronged ; have the courage of a just cause. 
See Dr. Derwent at once; I implore you to do so, for your 
own sake, f nd for that of all your true friends." 

At the end, Irene drew a deep breath. 

" He, certainly, is one of them," she said. 

" or my true friends ? Indeed, he is." 

Again they were interrupted. Olga announced the arrival 
of the nurse sent by Dr. Derwent to tend the invalid. 
Thereupon Irene took leave of her aunt, promising to come 
again on the morrow, and went downstairs, where she 
exchanged a few words with her cousin. They spoke of 
Piers Ot way's letter. 

"Pleasant for us, isn't it?" said Olga, with a dreary smile. 
" Picture us entertaining friends who call 1 " 

Irene embraced her gently, bade her be hopeful, and said 
good-bye. 

At home again, she remembered that she had an engage- 
ment to dine out this evening, but the thought was 
insufferable. Eustace, who was to have accompanied her, 
must go alone. Having given the necessary orders, she 
went to her room, meaning to sit there until dinner. But 
she grew restless and impatient ; when the first bell rang, 
^jhe made a hurried change of dress, and descended to the 
^^^Mving-room, An evening newspaper fa.\Vei to V^^i. \iK(. 



r 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 



attention ; with nervous movements, she walked hither : 
Ihither. It was a great relief to her when the door openej 
and her father came In. 

Contrary to his custom, the Doctor had not dressed, 
bore a wearied countenance, but at sight of Irene tried i 
smooth away the lines of disgust. 

" It was aJl I could do to get here by dinner-timer. ExcuseJ 
me, Mam'zelle Wren j they're the clothes of an honest workin 

The pet syllable (a joke upon her name as translated 
Thibaut Rosslgnol) had not been frequent on her father's lij 
for the last year or two ; he used it only in moments of gaiel, 
or of sadness, Irene did not wish to speak about her aunt 
just now, and was glad that the announcement of dinner 
came almost at once. They sat through an unusually silent 
meal, the few words they exchanged having reference 
public affairs. As soon as it was over, Irene asked if i 
might join her father in the library. 

"Ves, come and be smoked," was his answer. 

This mood did not surprise her. It was the Doctor's 
principle to combat anxiety with jests. He filled and lit 
one of his largest pipes, and smoked for some minutes before 
speaking. Irene, still nervous, let her eyes wander aboi ' 
the book -covered walls; a flush was on her cheeks, ai 
with one of her hands she grasped the other wrist, as if 
restrain herself from involuntary movement. 

"The nurse came," she said at length, unable to I 
silence longer. 

"That's right. An excellent woman; I can trust her." 

" Aunt seemed better when I came away." 

"I'm glad." 

Volleys of tobacco were the only sign of the stress 
Derwent suffered. He loathed what seemed to him 
sordid tragedy of his sister's life, and he resented as 
monstrous thing his daughter's involvement in such an afTair. 
This was the natural man ; the scientific observer took another 
side, urging that life was life and could not be escaped, refine 
ourselves as we may ; also that a sensible girl of mature y( 
would benefit rather than otherwise by being made helpful 
a woman caught in the world's snare. 

"Whilst I was there," pursued Irene, "there came a lei 
from Mr. Olway. No, no ; not from /lim ; from Mr. Piers Otwa] 



1 

1 



1 



i 



■ THE CROWN OF LIFE 211 

She gave a general idea of its contents, and praised its tone. 

"I daresay," threw out her father, almost irritably, "but I 
shall strongly advise her to have done with all of that name." 

"It's true they are of the same family," said Irene, "but 
that seems a mere accident, when one knows the difference 
between our friend Mr. Otway and his brothers." 

" Maybe ; I shall never like the name. Pray don't speak of 
our friend.' In any case, as you see, there must be an end 
' that." 

I should like you to see his letter, father. Ask aunt to 
low it you." 

The Doctor smoked fiercely, his brows dark. Rarely in her 
lifetime had Irene seen her father wrathful — save for his 
outbursts against the evils of the world and the time. To her 
he had never spoken an angry word. The lowering of his 
features in this moment caused her a painful flutter at the 
heart; she became mute, and for a minute or two neither 
spoke. 

" By the bye," said Dr. Derwent suddenly, " it is a most 
happy thing that your aunt's money was so strictly tied up. 
No one can be advantaged by her death— except that American 
hospital. Her scoundrelly acquaintances are aware of that 
fact, no doubt." 

" It's a little hard, isn't it, that Olga would have nothing? " 

" In one way, yes. But I'm not sure she isn't safer, so." 

Again there fell silence. Again Irene's eyes wandered, and 
her hands moved nervously. 

"There is one thing we must speak of," she said at length. 
" If the case goes on, Arnold will of course hear of it." 
. Dr. Derwent looked keenly at her before replying. 
L " He knows already," 
I "He knows? How?" 

r " By common talk in some house he frequents. Agreeable ! 
T saw him this afternoon ; he took me aside, and spoke of this. 
It is his belief that Hannaford himself has set the news going." 

Irene seemed about to rise. She sat straight, every nerve 
tense, her face glowing with indignation. 

"What an infamy !" 

"Just so. It's the kind of thing we're getting mixed 
up with." 

"How did Arnold speak to you? In what lone?" 

" As any decent man would — I can't desei^Cot '\i. Q'ijM;x:^'«K.- 



dta THE CROWN OF LIFE 

He said that of coarse it didn't concern him, except in so far 
as it was likely to annoy our family. He wanted to know 
whether you luul heard, and — naturally enough — was vexed 
that you couldn't be kept out of it He's a man of the world, 
and knows that, nowadays, a scandal such as this matters very 
little. Our name will come into it, I fear, but it's all forgotten 
in a week or two." 

They sat still and brooding for a long time. Irene seemed 
on the point of speaking once or twice, but checked herself. 
When at length her father's hjce relaxed into a smile, she rose, 
said she was weary, and stepped forward to say good-night 

"Well have no more of this subject, unless compelled," 
said the Doctor. ** It's worse than vivisection." 

And he settled to a book— or seemed to do so. 



CHAPTER XXV 

► RENE passed a restless night. The snatches of unrefreshing 
_ * sleep which she obtained as the hours dragged towards 
morning were crowded with tumultuous dreams ; she seemed 
to be at strife with all manner of people, now defending herself 
vehemently against some formless accusation, now arraigning 
others witli a violence strange to her nature. Worst of all, she 
was at odds with her father, about she knew not what ; she 
saw his kind face turn cold and hard in reply to a passionate 
exclamation with which she had assailed him. The wan 
glimmer of a misty October dawn was very welcome after this 
pictured darkness. Yet it brought reflections that did not lend 
to soothe her mind. 

Several letters for her lay on the breakfast ■ table ; among 
them, one from Arnold Jacks, which she opened hurriedly. 
It proved to be a mere note, saying that at last he had found 
a house which seemed in every respect suitable, and he wished 
Irene to go over it with him as soon as possible ; he would call 
for her at three o'clock, "Remember," he added, "you dine 
with us. We are by ourselves." 

She glanced at her father, as if to acquaint him with this 
news ; but the Doctor was deep in a leading-article, and she 
did not disturb him. Eustace had correspondence of his own 
which engrossed him. No one seemed disposed for talk this 
morning. 

The letter which most interested her came from Helen 
Borisofl^, who was now at home, in Paris. It was the kind of 
letter tliat few people are so fortunate as to receive nowadays, 
covering three sheets with- gaiety and good - nature, with 
glimpses of interesting social life and many an amusing detail. 
Mrs. Borisoff was establishing herself for the winter, which 
promised all sorts of good things yonder on the Seine. She 
had met most of the friends she cared about, mss.ot\% ■«'wi"ia. 
were men and women with f ai ■ ecVow^ yvm&^%. ^■•^^:v\«,^, I 



W: 



P 



i 



ai4 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

husband she was on delightful terms ; he had welcomed het' 
charmingly ; he wished her to convey his respectful homage to 
the young English lady with whom his wife had become /iie, 
and the hope that at no distant time he might make her 
acquaintance. After breakfast, Irene lingered over this letter, 
which brightened her imagination. Paris shone luringly as she 
read. Had circumstances been different, she would assuredly 
have spent a month there with Helen. 

Well, she was going to Egypt, after — 

One glance she gave at Arnold's short note. " My dear 
Irene" — "In haste, but ever yours." These Unes did not 
tempt her to muse. Yet Arnold was ceaselessly in her mind. 
She wished to see him, and at the same time feared his coming. 
As for the house, it occupied her thoughts with only a flittmg 
vagueness. Why so much solicitude about the house ? In 
any decent quarter of London, was not one just as good as 
another? But for the risk of hurting Arnold, she would have 
begged him to let her off the inspection, and to manage the 
business as he thought fit. 

A number of small matters claimed her attention during the 
morning, several of them connected with her marriage. Try 
as she might, she could not bring herself to a serious occupa- 
tion with these things ; they seemed trivial and tiresome. Her 
thoughts wandered constantly to the house at Campden Hill, 
which had a tragic fascination. She had promised to see her 
aunt to-day, but it would be difficult to find time, unless she 
could manage to get there between her business with Arnold 
and the hour of dinner. Olga was to telegraph if anything 
happened. A chill misgiving took hold upon her as often as 
she saw her aunt's face, so worn and woe-stricken; and 
constantly hovered before her mind's eye. 

The revelation made to her yesterday had caused a mental 
shock greater than she yet realised. That Mrs. Hannaford, 
woman whom she had for many years regarded as elderly, 
should be possessed and overcome by the passion of love, w{ 
a thing so strange, so at conflict with her fixed ideas, as to be' 
all but incredible. In her aunt's presence, she scarcely 
reflected upon it ; she saw only a woman bound to her by 
natural affection, who had fallen into dire misfortune and 
■retchedness, Little by little, the story grew upon her 
understanding; Ihe words in wWch it had been disclosi ~ 
" \me back to her, and vnth a w-w ^^Aca-wt, ■». ■^'s 



I 



I 



as ; 

I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 215 

hitherto unfelt. She remembered ihat Olga's mother was not 
much more than forty years old ; that this experience began 
more than five years ago ; that her hfe had been loveless ; that 
she was imaginative and of emotional temper. To dwell upon 
these facts was not only to see one person in a new light, but 
to gain a wider perception of life at large. Irene had a sense 
of enfranchisement from the immature, the conventional. 

She would have liked to be alone, to stt quietly and think. 
She wanted to review once more, and with fuller self-conscious- 
ness, the circumstances which were shaping her future. But 
there was no leisure for such meditation ; the details of life 
pressed upon her, urged her onward, as with an impatient 
hand. This sense of constraint became an irritation— due in 
part to the slight headache, coming and going, which reminded 
her of her bad night Among the things she meant to do this 
morning was the writing of several letters to so-called friends, 
who had addressed her in the wonted verbiage on the subject 
of her engagement. Five minutes proved the task impossible. 
She tore up a futile attempt at civility, and rose from the desk 
with all her nerves quivering, 

"How well I understand," she said to herself, "why men 

At eleven o'clock, unable to endure the house, she dressed 
for going out, and drove to Mrs. Hannaford's. 

Olga was not at home. Before going into her aunt's room, 
Irene spoke with the nurse, who had no very comforting report 
to make ; Mrs. Hannaford could not sleep, had not closed her 
eyes for some four-and-twenty hours ; Dr. Derwent had looked 
in this morning, and was to return later with another medical 
The patient longed for her niece's visit; it might do 

She stayed about an hour, and it was the most painful hour 
ler Hfe had yet known. The first sight of Mrs. Hannaford's 
face told her how serious this illness was becoming ; eyes un- 
naturally wide, lips which had gone so thin, head constantly 
moving from side to side as it lay back on the cushion of the 
sofa, were indications of suffering which made Irene's heart 
ache. In a faint, unsteady, lamenting voice, the poor woman 
talked ceaselessly ; now of the wrong that was being done her, 
now of her miseries in married life, now ^ain of her present 
pain. Once or twice Irene fancied \vw iifiifiCfiiv S.'sv ^^^^ 
ffemed to speak without copsdousness o^ a Vess^. '^'^ ^ 



^^uian 



lie 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



n 



r 

^^B inquiry wlieliier it was in her niece's power to be of any service, 
^^P she answered at first with sorrowful negatives, but said presently 
^^M that she would like to see Piers Otway ; could Irene write to 
^^m him, and ask him to come ? 
^^M "He shall come," was the reply. 

^^1 On going down, Irene met her cousin, just returned. To| 

^^M her she spoke of Mrs. Hannaford's wish. 
^^M "I promised he should be sent for. Will you do 
■ Olga?" 

^^M " It is already done," Olga answered. " Did she forget 
^^1 One of the things I went out for was to telegraph to him." 
^^M They gazed at each other with distressful eyes. 

^^M "Oh, what does the man deserve who has caused this?' 
^^P exclaimed Olga, who herself began to look ill. " It's dreadful 
^^ I am afraid to go into the room. If I had someone here 
live with me ! " 

Irene's instinct was to offer to come, hut she remembei 
the difficulties. Her duties at home were obstacles sufficient. 
She had to content herself with promising to call as often as 
possible. 

Returning to Bryanston Square, she thought with annoyance 
of the possibility that her father and Piers Otway might come 
face to face in that house. Never till now had she taxed her 
father with injustice. It seemed to her an intolerable thing 
that the blameless man should be made to share in obloquy 
merited by his brother, And what memory was this which 
awoke in her? Did not she herself once visit upon him a 
fault in which he had little if any part? She recalled that 
evening, long ago, at Queen's Gate, when she was offended by 
the coarse behaviour of Piers Otway's second brother. True, 
there was something else that moved her censure on thai 
occasion, but she would scarcely have noticed it save for the 
foolish incident at the door. Fortune was not his friend. She 
thought of the circumstances of his birth, which had so cruelly 
wronged him when Jerome Otway died. Now, more likely 
than not, her father would resent his coming to Mrs. Hanna- 
ford's, would see in it something suspicious, a suggestion of. 
base purpose. 

"I can't stand that!" Irene exclaimed to herself. " 
is calumniated, I shall defend him, come of it what may 
At }uncheon, Dr. Derwent was grave and disinclined 
^fpnrerse. On learning where Itene Wi We^, \va 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 217 

making no remark. It was a bad sign that his uneasiness 
could no longer be combated with a dry joke. 

As three o'clock drew near, Irene made no preparation for 
going out. She sat in the drawing-room, unoccupied, and was 
found thus when Arnold Jacks entered. 

"You got my note?" he began, with a slight accent of 
surprise. 

Irene glanced at him, and perceived that he did not wear 
his wonted countenance. This she had anticipated, with an 
uneasiness which now hardened in her mind to something Hke 
resentment. 

"Yes, I hoped you would excuse me. I have a little 
headache." 

" Oh, I'm sorry ! " 

He was perfecdy suave. He looked at her with a good- 
natured anxiety. Irene tried to smile. 

"You won't mind if I leave all that to you? Your judgment 
is quite enough. If you really like the house, take it at once. 
I shall be delighted." 

"It's rather a responsihihty, you know. Suppose we wait 
till trf-morrow ? " 

Irene's nerves could not endure an argument. She gave a 
strange laugh, and exclaimed ; 

"Are you afraid of responsibilities ? In this case, you must 
really face it. Screw up your courage." 

Decidedly, Arnold was not himself. He liked an engage- 
ment of banter j it amused him to call out Irene's spirit, and 
lo conquer in the end by masculine force in guise of affection- 
ate tolerance. To-day he seemed dull, matter-of-fact, inclined 
to vexation; when not speaking, he had a slightly absent air, 
^ as if ruminating an unpleasant thought. 

"Of course I will do as you wish, Irene. Just let me 
describe the house " — 

She could have screamed with irritation. 

" Arnold, I entreat you ! The house is nothing to me. I 
mean, one will do as well as another, if jiau are satisfied." 

"So be it, I wiil never touch on the subject again." 

His tone was decisive. Irene knew that he would literally 
keep his word. This was the side of his character which she 
liked, which had always impressed her ; and for the moment 

K nerves were soothed. 
You wiJJ for^ve nie?" she said ^evi\.\^'. 



lis 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 



" Foi^it'e you for having a headache ? — ^ViU it prevent 
from coming to us this evening?" 

" I should be grateful if you let me choose another day. 

He did not stay very long. At leave-taking, he raised her 
hand to his lips, and Irene felt that he did it gracefully. But 
when she was alone again, his manner, so slightly yet so 
noticeably changed, became the harassing subject of her thoughL 
That the change resulted from annoyance at the scandal in her 
family she could not doubt ; such a thing would be hard for 
Arnold to bear. When were they to speak of it? Speak they 
must, if the affair went on to publicity. And, considering the 
natural difficulty Arnold would find in approaching such a 
subject, ought not she to take some steps of her own initiative? 

By evening, she saw the position in a very serious light. 
She asked herself whether it did not behove her to offer to 
make an end of their engagement. 

" Your aunt has brain fever," said Dr. Derwent, in the library 
afler dinner. And Irene shuddered with dread. 

Early next morning she accompanied her father to Mrs. 
Hannaford's, The Doctor went upstairs ; Irene waited in the 
dining-room, where she was soon joined by Olga. The girl's 
face was news sufficient ; her mother grew worse — had passed 
a night of delirium. Two nurses were in the house, and the 
medical man called every few hours. Olga herself looked on 
the point of collapse ; she was haggard with fear ; she trembled 
and wept. In spite of her deep concern and sympathy, Irene's 
more courageous temper reproved this weakness, wondered at 
it as unworthy of a grown woman. 

" Did Mr. Otway come ? " she asked, as soon as it was 
possible to converse. 

"Yes. He was a long time in mother's room, and 
before he left her your father came." 

"They met?" 

"No. Uncle seemed angry when I told him. He 
' Get rid of him at once ! ' I suppose he dislikes him becai 
of his brother. It's very unjust." 

Irene kept silence. 

" He came down— and we talked. I am so glad lo 
any friend near me ! I told him how uncle felt. Of course: 
will not come again " — 

" HTiy not ? This is your house, not my father's ! " 

"J3ijt poor mothei coiiirfX «* ^^™\ tvo'«^«wiisisi't 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 219 

him, I promised to send him news frequently. I'm going lo 
telegraph this morning." 

" Of course," said Irene, with emphasis. " He must under- 
stand that you have no such feehng " — 

" Oh, he knows that ! He knows I am grateful to him — 
very grateful " — 

She broke down again, and sobbed. Irene, without speaking, 
put her arms around the girl and kissed her cheek. 

Dr. Derwent and his daughter met again at luncheon. 
Afterwards, Irene followed into the library. 

" I wish to ask you something, father. When you and 
Arnold spoke about this hateful thing, did you tell him, 
unmistakably, that aunt was slandered?" 

" I told him that I myself had no doubt of it." 

" Did he seem — do you think that ht doubts?" 

"Why?" 

Irene kept silence, feeling that her impression was too 
vague to be imparted. 

"Try," said her father, "to dismiss the matter from your 
thoughts. It doesn't concern you. You will never hear an 
allusion to it from Jacks. Happen what may" — his voice 
paused, with suggestive emphasis — "you have nothing to do 
with it It doesn't affect your position or your future in the 
least." 

As she withdtew, Irene was uneasily conscious of altered 
relations with her father. The change had begun when she 
wrote to him announcing her engagement ; since, they had 
never conversed with the former freedom, and the shadow now 
hanging over them seemed to chitl their mutual affection. For 
the first time, she thought with serious disquiet of the gulf 
between old and new that would open at her marriage, of all 
she was losing, of the duties she was about to throw off — 
duties which appeared so much more real, more sacred, than 
those she undertook in their place. Her father's widowerhood 
had made him dependent upon her in a higher degree than 
either of them quite understood until they had to re9ect upon 
the consequences of parting ; and Irene now perceived that she 
had dismissed this consideration too lightly. She found 
difficulty in explaining her action, her state of mind, her whole 
self. Was it really only a few weeks ago? To her present 
mood, what she had thouglit and done seemed a. \5;^\i\ cS, 
youth ajid inexperience, a condition long ow\\.\e6. 



aao THE CROWN OF LIFE 

When she had sat alone for half an hour in the drawing- 
room, Eustace joined her. He said their father had gone out. 
They talked of indifferent things till bedtime. 

In the morning, the servant who came into Irene's room 
gave her a note addressed in the Doctor's hand. It contained 
the news that Mrs. Hannaford had died before daybrealt. 
Dr. Derwent himself did not appear till about ten o'clock, 
when he arrived together with his niece. Olga had beoi 
violently hysterical ; it seemed the wisest thing to bring her 10 
Bryanston Square; the change of surroundings and Irene's 
sympathy soon restored her to calm. 

Al midday a messenger brought Irene a letter from Arnold 
Jacks. Arnold wrote that he had just heard of her aunt's 
death : that he was deeply grieved, and hastened to condole 
with her. He did not come in person, thinking she would 
prefer to let this sad day pass over before they met, but he 
would call to-morrow morning. In the meantime, he would 
be grateful for a line assuring him that she was well. 

Having read this, Irene threw it aside as if it had been a 
tradesman's circular. Not thus should he have written — if 
, write he must, instead of coming. In her state of agitation 
after the hours spent with Olga, ^this bald note of sympathy 
seemed almost an insult ; to keep silence as to the real cause 
, of Mrs. Hannaford's death was much the same, she felt, as 
hinting a doubt of the poor lady's innocence. Arnold Jacks 
, was altogether too decorous. Would it not have been natural for 
a man in his position to utter at least an indignant word ? It 
might have been as allusive as his fine propriety demanded, 
but surely the word should have been spoken I 

After some delay, she replied in a telegram, merely sayi 
■ that she was quite well. 

Olga, as soon as she felt able, had sat down lo write a letl 
She be^ed her cousin to have it posted at once, 

" It's to Mr. Otway," she said, in an unsteady voice. And, 
when the letter had been despatched, she added, " It will be 
great blow to him. I had a letter last night asking for 
news— Oh, I meant to bring it!" she exclaimed, 
a momentary return of her distracted manner. " 1 left 
my room. It will be lost — destroyed ! " 

Irene quieted her, promising that the letter should be 
safe. 

"Perhaps he wiU caW," 0\?,a s.a:\i ■^e^-e.w.Vj . "RMS,no, 



ng for 
, with.a 

"J 

dam 

J 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 221 

so soon. He may have written again. I must have the letter, 
if there is one. Someone must go over to the house this 
evening." 

Through a great part of the afternoon, she slept, and whilst 
she was sleeping there arrived for her a telegram, which, Irene 
did not doubt, came from Piers Otway. It proved to be so, 
and Olga betrayed nervous tremors after reading the message. 

" I shall have a letter in the morning," she said to her cousin, 
several times ; and after that she did not care to talk, but sat 
for hours busy with her thoughts, which seemed not altogether 
sad. 

At eleven o'clock next morning, Arnold Jacks was announced. 
Irene, who sat with Olga in the drawing-room, had directed 
that her visitor should be shown into the library, and there she 
received him. Arnold stepped eagerly towards her ; not smiling, 
indeed, but with the possibility of a smile manifest in every 
line of his countenance. There could hardly have been a 
stronger contrast with his manner of the day before yesterday. 
For this Irene had looked. Seeing precisely what she ex- 
pected, her eyes fell ; she gave a careless hand ; she could not 
speak. 

Arnold talked, talked. He said the proper things, and said 
them well ; to things the reverse of proper, not so much as the 
faintest reference. This duty discharged, he spoke of the 
house he had taken j his voice grew animated ; at length the 
latent smile stole out through his eyes and spread to his lips. 
Irene kept silence. Respecting her natural sadness, the lover 
made his visit brief, and retired with an air of grave satisfaction. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

OLGA knew that by her mother's death she became I 
penniless. The income enjoyed by Mrs. Hannafoid I 
under the will of her sister in America was only for life: " 
by allowing a thiid of it to her husband, she had made I 
saving impossible, and, as she left no will, her daughter I 
could expect only such trifles as might legally fall to hra | 
share when things were settled. To her surviving parent, « 
the girl was of course no more than a stranger. It surprised 
no one that Lee Hannaford, informed through the lawje^ 
of what had happened, simply kept silence, leaving his wifi. 
burial to the care of Dr. Derwent, 

Three days of gloom went by ; the funeral was over ; Irene I 
and her cousin sat together in iheir mourning apparel, not I 
simply possessed by natural grief, but overcome with the I 
nervous exhaustion which results from our habits and I 
customs in the presence of death, Olga had been miserably j 
crying, bat was now mute and still ; Irene, pale, with an 
repression of austere though tfulness, spoke of the subject 
they both had in mind, I 

"There is no necessity to take any step at all — untiJ you i 
are quite yourself again — until you really wish. This is your 
home ; my father would like you to stay." | 

"I couldn't live here after you are married," replied the 
other, weakly, despondently. 

Irene glanced at her, hung a moment on the edge of 
speech, then spoke with a self-possession which made her 
seem many years older than her cousin. 

" I had better tell you now, that we may understand each I 
other. I am not going to be married." I 

To Olga's voiceless astonishment she answered with a 
pale smile. Grave again, and gentle as she was firm, Irene 
continued. 

"I am going to break my engagement. It has bee n a i 



r THE CROWN OF LIFE 223 

mistake. To-night I shall write a letter to Mr. Jacks, saying 
that I cannot marry him; when it has been sent, I shall tell 
my father." 

Olga had begun to tremble. Her features were disturbed 
with an emotion which banished every sign of sorrow ; which 
flushed her cheeks and made her eyes seem hostile in their 
fixed stare. 

" How can you do that ? " she asked, in a hard voice. 
" How is it possible ? " 

" It seems to me far more possible than the alternative — 
a life of repentance." 

"But — what do you mean, Irene? When everything is 
settled— when your house is taken — when everyone knows! 
What do you mean ? Why shall you do this ? " 

The words rushed forth impetuously, quivering on a note 
of resentment. The flushed cheeks were turning pallid ; 
the girl's breast heaved with indignant passion. 

"I can't fully explain it to you, Olga." The speaker's 
tones sounded very soft and reasonable after that outbreak. 
"I am doing what many a girl would do, I feel sure, if she 
could find courage — let us say, if she saw clearly enough. 
It will cause confusion, ill-feeling, possibly some unhappiness, 
for a few weeks, for a month or two; then Mr. Jacks will 
feel grateful to me, and my father will acknowledge I did 
right; and everybody else who knows anything about it 
will have found some other subject of conversation." 

"You are fond of somebody else?" 

It was between an exclamation and an inquiry. Bending 
forward, Olga awaited the reply as if her life depended 
upon it. 

" I am fond of no one — in that sense." 

Irene's look was so fearless, her countenance so tranquil 
in its candour, that the agitated girl grew quieter. 

"It isn't because you are thinking of someone else that 
you can't marry Mr. Jacks ? " 

"I am thinking simply of myself. I am afraid to marry 
him. No thought of the kind you mean has entered my 
head." 

" But how will it be explained to everybody? " 

"By telling the truth — always the best way out of a 
difficulty. I shall take all the blame on myself, as I ought," 
~ "And you will live on here, just as usual, seeing, ^q^\s. — V 



i 



224 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



" No, I don't think I could do that. Most bkely I s 
go for 3 time to Paris." 

Olga's relief expressed itself in a sigh. 

"In all this," continued Irene, "there's no reason i 
you shouldn't stay here. Everything, you may be : 
will be settled very quietly. My father is a reasonable man.^ 

After a short reflection, Olga said that she could not ) 
make up her mind. And therewith ended their dialogi 
Each was glad to go apart into privacy, to revolve anxio; 
thoughts, and to seek rest. 

That her father was " a reasonable man," Irene had alwi , 
held a self-evident proposition. She had never, until a few* 
days ago, conceived the possibility of a conflict between 
his ideas of right and her own. Domestic discord was to 
her mind a vulgar, no less than an unhappy, state of things. 
Yet, in the step she was now about to take, could she feel any 
assurance that Dr. Derwent would afford her the help of 
his sympathy — ^or even that he would refrain from censure? 
Reason itself was on her side ; but an otherwise reasonable 
man might well find difficulty in acknowledging it, under 
the circumstances. 

The letter to Arnold Jacks was already composed; she 
knew it by heart, and had but to write it out. In the course 
of a sleepless night, this was done. In the eariy glimmer 
of a day of drizzle and fog, the letter went to post. 

There needed courage — yes, there needed courage — on a 
morning such as this, when the skyless atmosphere weighed 
drearily on heart and mind, when hope had become a far-off 
thing, banished for long months from a grey, cold world, to 
go through with the task which Irene had set herself. Could 
she but have slept, it might have been easier for her; she 
had to front it with an aching head, with eyes that dazzled, 
with blood fevered into cowardice. 

Dr. Derwent was plainly in no mood for conversation. 
His voice had been seldom heard during the past week. 
At the breakfast-table he read his letters, glanced over the 
paper, exchanged a few sentences with Eustace^ said a kind 
word to Olga : when he rose, one saw that he hoped fofj| 
(juiet morning in his laboratory. 

"Could I see you for half an hour before lunch, father?" 

He looked into the speaker's face, surprised at sometU 
unusual in her tone, and nodded without smiling. 



B THE CROWN OF LIFE 225 

" When you like." 

She stood at the window of the drawing-room, looking over 
the enclosure in the square, the dreary so-called garden, 
with its gaunt leafless trees that dripped and oozed. Opposite 
was the long facade of characterless houses, like to that in 
which she lived ; the steps, the door-columns, the tall narrow 
windows ; above them, murky vapour. 

She moved towards the door, hesitated, looked about her 
with unconsciously appealing eyes. She moved forward again, 
and on to her purpose. 

" Well ? " said the Doctor, who stood before a table covered 
with scientific apparatus. "Is it about Olga?" 

" No, dear father. It's about Irene." 

He smiled ; his face softened to tenderness. 

"And what about Mam'aelle Wren? It's hard on Wren, 
all this worry at such a time." 

"If it didn't sound so selfish, I should say it had all 
happened for my good, I suppose we can't help seeing the 
world from our own little point of view." 

" What follows on this philosophy ? " 

" Something you won't like to hear, 1 know ; but I beg 
you to be patient with me. When were you not ? I never 
had such need of your patience and forbearance as now. — 
Father, I cannot marry Arnold Jacks. And 1 have told him 
that I can't." 

The Doctor very quietly laid down a microscopic slide. 
His forehead grew wrinkled ; his lips came sharply together; 
he gazed for a moment at an open volume on a high desk at 
his side, then said composedly : 

" This is your affair, Irene. All I can do is to advise you 
to be sure of your own mind." 

" I am sure of it — very sure of it ! " 

Her voice trembled a little; her hand, resting upon the 
table, much more. 

"You say you have told Jacks?" 

" I posted a letter to him this morning." 

" With the first announcement of your change of mind? — 
How do you suppose he will reply ? " 

"I can't feel sure." 

There was silence. The Doctor look up a piece of 
paper, and began folding and re-folding it, the while he 
meditated. 



I 

I 



326 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

"You know, of course," he said at length, "what the 
thinks of this sort of behaviour?" 

" I know what the world is Ukely to say about it. Ul 
fortunately, the world seldom thinks at all," 

" Granted. And we may also assume that no explanation 
offered by you or Jacks will affect the natural course of gossip. 
Still, you would wish to justify yourself in the eyes of your 
friends." 

" What I wish before all, of course, is to save Mr. Ja<ifl 
from any risk of blame. It must be understood that I, andffl 
alone, am responsible for what happens," 

"Stick to your philosophy," said her father. "Recognise 
the fact that you cannot save him from gossip and scandal— 
that people will credit as much or as little as they hke of any 
explanation put forth. Moreover, bear in mind that this 
action of yours is defined by a vulgar word, which com- 
monly injures the man more than the woman. In the 
world's view, it is worse to be made ridiculous than to act 
cruelly." 

A look of pain passed over the girl's face. 

" Father, I am not acting cruelly. It is the best thii^ 
can do, for him as well as for myself. On his side, no de^ 
feeling is involved, and as for his vanity — I can't consider 
that." 

" Vou have come to the conclusion that he is not sufficiently 
devoted to you?" 

"I couldn't have put it in those words, but that is half tlig 
truth. The other half is, that I was altogether mistaken Wt 
my own fee lings. ^Father, you are accustomed to deal wid 
life and death. Do you think that fear of gossip, and dednj 
to spare Mr. Jacks a brief mortification, should compel me M 
surrender all that makes life worth living, and to commit | 
sin for which there is no forgiveness ? " ' 1 

Her voice, thoroughly under control, its natural music 
subdued rather than emphasised, lent to these words a deeper 
meaning than they would have conveyed if uttered with 
vehemence. They woke in her father's muid a memory of 
long years ago, recalled the sound of another voice whicli had 
the same modulations. 

"I find no fault with you," he said gravely. "That you 
can do such a thing as this proves to me how strongly you 
feel about it. But U \s a sentiMs derision — more serious. 



ct 

i 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 237 

perhaps, than you realise. Things have gone so far. The 
mere inconvenience caused will be very great." 

" I know it. I have felt tempted to yield to that thought — 
to let things slide, as they say. Convenience, I feel sure, is 
a greater power on the whole than religion or morals or the 
heart. It doesn't weigh with me, because I have had such a 
revelation of myself as blinds me to everything else. I dare 
not go on ! " 

"Don't think I claim any authority over you," said the 
Doctor, "At your age, my only right as your father is in my 
affection, my desire for your welfare. Can you tell me more 
plainly how this change has come about ? " 

Irene reflected. She had seated herself, and felt more 
confidence now thai, by bending her head, she could escape 
her father's gaze. 

"I can tel! you one of the things that brought me to a 
resolve," she said. "I found that Mr. Jacks was disturbed 
by the fear of a pubhc scandal which would touch our name ; 
so much disturbed that, on meeting me after aunt's death, he 
could hardly conceal his gladness that she was out of the way." 

" Are you sure you read him aright ? " 

"Very sure." 

" It was natural — in Arnold Jacks." 

" It was. I had not understood that before." 

"His relief may have been as much on your account as 
his own." 

" I can't feel that," replied Irene. " If it were true, he 
could have made me feel it There would have been some- 
thing — if only a word — in the letter he wrote me about the 
death. I didn't expect him to talk to me about the hateful 
things that were going on ; I did hope that he would give me 
some assurance of his indifference to their effect on people's 
minds. — Yet no; that is not quite true. Even then, I had 
got past hoping it. Already I understood him too well." 

" Strange ! All this new light came after your engagement ? " 

Irene bent her head again, for her cheeks were warm. In 
a flash of intellect, she wondered that a man so deep in the 
science of life should be so at a loss before elementary facts 
of emotional experience. She could only answer by saying 
nothing. 

Dr. Derwent murmured his next woids, 

" I, Xoo, have a share in the blame ot a.V\ tos." 



938 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



"You, father?" 

" I knew the man better than you did, or could, 
a difficuh duty. But one reason why I did so, was that I ii 
in doubt as to your mind. The fact that you were my ~ 
daughter did not alter the fact that you were a woman, and I 
could not have any assurance that I understood you. If 
there had been a question of his Ufe, his intellectual powers, 
his views — I would have said freely just what I thought. But 
there was no need ; no objection rose on that score; you saw 
the man, from that point of view, much as I did — only with a 
little more sympathy. In other respects, I trusted to what 
we call women's instinct, women's perceptiveness. To me, 
he did not seem your natural mate; but then I saw with 
man's eyes; I was afraid of meddling obtusely." 

" Don't reproach yourself, father. The knowledge I have r 
gained could only have come to me in one way." ■ 

" Of course he will turn to me, in appeal against you." fl 
" If so, it will be one more proof how rightly I am acting." § 
The Doctor smiled, all but laughed. 

"Considering how very decent a fellow he is, your mood 
seems severe, Irene. ^VVell, you have made up your mind. 
It's an affair of no small gravity, and we must get through it 
as best we can. I have no doubt whatever it's worse for you 
than for anyone else concerned." 

" It is so bad for me, father, that, when I have gone through 

it, I shall be at the end of my strength. I shall run away (tq^h 

the after consequences." ^H 

" What do you mean ? " ^H 

" I shall accept Mrs. Borisoff's invitation, and go to Pa^^| 

It is deserting you, but "— ^| 

Dr. Deiwent wore a doubtful look ; he pondered, and beewB 

to pace the floor. JH 

"We must think about that." jH 

Though her own mind was quite made up, Irene did ni^| 

see lit to say more at this juncture. She rose. Her fath^H 

continued moving hither and thither, his hands behind l^fl 

back, seemingly oblivious of her presence, To him, the trQuU^B 

seemed only just beginning, and he was not at all sure whi9 

the end would be. H 

"Jacks will come this evening, I suppose?" he threw oM^| 

as Irene approached the door. f^M 

"Perhaps this afternoon." ^H 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 229 

He looked at her with sympathy, with apprehension. Irene, 
endeavouring to smile in reply, passed from his view. 

Olga had gone out, merely saying that she wished to see a 
friend, and that she might not be back to luncheon. She did 
not return. Father and daughter were alone together at the 
meal. Contrary to Irene's expectation, the Doctor had become 
almost cheerful ; he made one or two quiet jokes iii the old 
way, of course on any subject but that which filled their minds, 
and his behaviour was marked with an unusual gentleness. 
Irene was so moved by grateful feeling, that now and then she 
could not trust her voice. 

" Let me remind you," he said, observing her lack of 
appetite, " that an ill-nourished brain can't be depended upon 
for sanity of argument." 

" It aches a little," she replied quietly. 

"I was afraid so. What if you rest to-day, and let me 
postpone for you that interview — ?" 

The suggestion was dreadful ; she put it quickly aside. She 
hoped with all her strength that Arnold Jacks would have 
received the letter already, and that he would come to see her 
this afternoon. To pass another night with her suspense 
would be a strain scarce endurable. 

Fog still hung about the streets, shifting, changing its 
density, but never allowing a glimpse of sky. Alone in the 
drawing-room, Irene longed for the end of so-called day, that 
she might shut out that spirit -crushing blotch of bare trees and 
ug!y houses. She thought, of a sudden, how much harder we 
make life than it need be, by dwelling amid scenes that disgust, 
in air that lowers vitality, There fell on her a mood of 
marvelling at the aims and the satisfactions of mankind. This 
hideous oblong, known as Bryanston Square — how did it come 
to seem a desirable place of abode? Nay, how was it for a 
moment tolerable to reasonmg men and women? This whole 
London now gasping in fout vapours that half obscured, half 
emphasised its inexpressible monstrosity, its inconceivable 
abominations — by what bhghting of eye and soul did a nation 
come to accept it as their world- shown pride, their supreme 
City ? She was lost in a truth- perceiving dream. Habit and 
association dropped away ; things declared themselves in their 
actuality ; her mind whirled under the sense of human folly, 
"^dplessness, endurance. 



230 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

A cry escaped her ; she started at the sound of her name 
as if terrified. Arnold Jacks had entered the room, and 
drawn near to her, whilst she was deep in reverie. 

''I am sorry to have alarmed you," he added, smiling 
tolerantly. 

With embarrassment which was almost shame — for she 
despised womanish nervousness — Irene turned towards the 
fireplace, where chairs invited them. 

" Let us sit down and talk," she said, in a softened voice. 
" I am so grateful to you for coming at once." 



CHAPTER XXVII 

HIS manner was that lo which she had grown accustomed, 
or differed so httle from it that, in ordinary circum- 
stances, she would have remarked no peculiarity. He might 
have seemed, perhaps, a trifle less matter-of-fact than usual, 
slightly more disposed to ironic playfulness. At ease in the 
soft chair, his legs extended, with feet crossed, he observed 
Irene from under humorously bent brows; watched her 
steadily, until he saw that she could bear it no longer. Then 
he spoke. 

"I thought we should get through without it." 

"Without what?" 

"This little reaction. It comes into the ordinary prognosis, 
I believe; but we seemed safe. Yet I can't say I'm sorry. 
It's better, no doubt, to get this over before marriage." 

Irene flushed, and for a moment strung herself to the 
attitude of offended pride. But it passed. She smiled to his 
smile, and, playing with the tassel of her chair, responded in 
a serious undertone. 

" I hoped my letter could not possibly be misunderstood." 

" I understand it perfectly, I am here to talk it over from 
your own standpoint," 

Again he frowned jocosely. His elbows on the chair-arms, 
he tapped together the points of his fingers, exhibiting nails 
which were all that they should have been. Out of regard 
for the Derwents' mourning, he wore a tie of black satin, and 
his clothes were of dark-grey, a rough material which combined 
the effects of finish and of carelessness — note of the well- 
dressed Englishman. 

" We cannot talk it over," rejoined Irene. " I have nothing 
to say — except that I take blame and shame lo myself, and 
that I entreat your forgiveness," 

Under his steady eye, his good-humoured, watchful miastevi, 
growing restive. 



^lei 



THE CROWN OF LIFE ■ 

I was in doubt whether to come to-day," said Jacks, in a 
TcQective tone. "I thought at first of sending a note, and 
postponing our meeting. I understood so perfectly the state 
of mind in which you wrote — the natural result of most painful 
events. The fact is, I am guilty of bad taste in seeming to 
treat it lightly; you have suffered very much, and won't be 
yourself for some days. But, after all, it isn't as if one had to 
do with the ordinary gir!. To speak frankly, I thought it was 
the kindest thing to come — so I came." 

Nothing Arnold had ever said to her had so appealed to 
Irene's respect as this last sentence. It had the ring of enti 
sincerity ; it was quite simply spoken ; it soothed her nerves. 

"Thank you," she answered, with a grateful look. "Yi 
did right, I could not have borne it — if you had just writti 
and put it off. Indeed, I could not have borne it." 

Arnold changed his attitude; he bent forward, his 
across his knees, so as to be nearer to her. 

" Do you think / should have had an easy lime ? " 

"I reproach myself more than I can tell you. But you 
must understand^ — you musi believe that I mean what I am 
saying ! " Her voice began to modulate. " It is not only the 
troubles we have gone through. I have seen it coming— the 
moment when I should write that letter. Through cowardice, 
I have put it ofT. It was very unjust to you ; you have every 
right to condemn my behaviour ; I am unpardonable. And 
yet I hope — I do so hope — that some day you will pardon 
me." 

In the man's eyes, she had never been so attractive, s< 
desirable, so essentially a woman. The mourning garl 
became her, for it was moulded upon her figure, and gave 
effect to the admirably pure tone of her complexion. Her 
beauty, in losing its perfect healthfulness, gained a new power 
over the imagination ; the heavy eyes suggested one knew not 
what ideal of painters and poets ; the lips were more sensuous 
since they had lost their mocking smile. All passion of which 
Arnold Jacks was capable sounded in the voice with which he 
now spoke. ^_ 

" I shall never pardon you, because I shall never feel y<^H 

have injured me. Say to me what you want to say. I v^^^l 

■ listen. What can I do better than listen to your voice? ^H 

^^m won't argue; I won't contradict. Relieve your mind, and l^H 

^^H us see what il all cotnes to \n tVve end." j^H 



1 to 

1 



on I 

sofl 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 233 

Irene had a creeping sense of fear, This tone was so 
unlike what she had expected. Physical weakness threatened 
a defeat which would have nothing to do with her will. If 
she yielded now, there would be no recovering her self-respect, 
no renewal of her stru^le for liberty. She wished to rise, to 
face him upon her feet, yet had not the courage. His manner 
dictated hers. They were not playing parts on a stage, hut 
civilised persons discussing their difficulties in a soft-carpeted 
drawing-room. The only thing in her favour was that the 
afternoon drew on, and the light thickened. Veiled in dusk, 
she hoped to speak more resolutely. 

"Must I repeat my letter?" 

" Yes, if you feel sure that it still expresses your mind." 

" It does. I made a grave mistake. In accepting your 
offer of marriage, I was of course honest, but I didn't know 
what it meant; I didn't understand myself Of course it's 
very hard on you that your serious purpose should have for 
its only result to teach me that I was mistaken. If I didn't 
know that you have httle patience with such words, I should 
say that it shows something wrong in our social habits.— Yet, 
that's foolish ; you are right, that is quite silly. It isn't our 
habits that are to blame, but our natures — the very nature of 
things. I had to engage myself to you before I could know 
that I ought to have done nothing of the kind." 

She paused, suddenly breathless, and a cough seized her, 

"You've taken cold," said Jacks, with graceful solicitude. 

" No, no ! It's nothing." 

Dusk crept about the room. The fire was getting rather 
low. 

"Shall I ring for lamps?" asked Arnold, half rising. 

Irene wished to say no, but the proprieties were too strong. 
She allowed him to ring the bell, and, without asking leave, 
he threw coals upon the fire. For five minutes their dialogue 
suffered interruption ; when it began again, the curtabs were 
drawn, and warm rays succeeded to turbid twilight. 

" I had better explain to you," said Arnold, in a tone of 
dehcacy overcome, "this state of mind in which you find 
yourself. It is perfectly natural ; one has heard of it ; one 
sees the causes of it. You are about to take the most 
important step in your whole life, and, being what you are, a 
very intelligent and very conscientious girl, ^ou ^\a."^e^.V^Q^i■^■l. 
and thought about its gravity until it hi^tetvs 'jovi. "Vwa^.^ 



W: 



i 



234 THE CROWN OF LIFE ■ 

Ibe simple explanation of jour trouble. In a week — perhaps 
in a day or two — it will have passed. Just waiL Don't IhJnk 
of it. Put your marri:^;e — put me — quite out of your mind. 
I won't remind you of my existence for — let us say before ni 
Sunday. Now, is it agreed?" 

" 1 should be dishonest if 1 pretended to agree. 

"But — don't you think you owe it to me to give what' 
suggest a fair trial ? " 

The words were trenchant, the lone was studiously 
Irene stnmg herself for contest, hoping it would come quid 
and undisguised. 

" I owe you much. I have done you a great injustii 
But waiting will do no good. I know my mind at last. 
what b possible and what impossible." 

"Do you imagine, Irene, that 1 can part with you on th( 
terms? Do you really think I could shake hands, and 
good-bye, at this stage of our relations?" 

"What can I do?" Her voice, kept low, shook 
emotion. " I confess an error — am I to pay for it with 
life?" 

"I ask you only to be just to yourself as well as to 
Let three days go by, and see me again." 

She seemed to reflect upon it. In truth she was debating 
whether to persevere in honesty, or to spare her nerves with 
dissimulation. A promise to wait three days would set her 
free forthwith; the temptation was great. But something in 
her had more constraining power. 

" If I pretended to agree, I should be ashamed of mys< 
I should have passed from error into baseness. You would 
have a right to despise me ; as it is, you have only a right to 
be angry." 

As though the word acted upon his mood, Arnold sprang 
forward from the chair, fell upon one knee close beside her, 
and grasped her hands. Irene instinctively threw hi " 
back, looking frightened ; but she did not attempt to 
His face was hot-coloured, his eyes shone unpleasantly; 
before he spoke, his lips parted in a laugh. 

"Are you one of the women," he said, "who have to be 
conquered? I didn't think so. You seemed so reasonable." 

" Do you dream of conquering a woman who cannot love 
you ? " 

"/ refuse to believe U. \ tecaW ^uw a'fit\ ■« 



heis^^l 

o ri^^l 

lo be 
i\e." 
love 

J 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 235 

He made a movement to pass one arm about her waist, 

" No ! After what I have said — ! " 

Her hands being free, she sprang up and broke away from 
him. Arnold rose more slowly, his look lowered with indigna- 
tion. Eyes bent on the ground, hands behind him, he stood 
mute. 

" Must I leave you ? " said Irene, when she could steady her 

"Thai is my dismissal?" 

" If you cannot Usten to me, and believe me — yes." 

" All things considered, you are a little severe." 

" You put yourself in the wrong. However unjust I have 
been to you, I can't atone by permitting what you call 
conquest. No, I assure you, I am nol one of those women." 

His eyes were now fixed upon her; his lips announced a 
new determination, set as they were in the lines of resentful 
dignity. 

" Let me put the state of things before you," he said in his 
softest tones, just touched with irony. " The fact of our 
engagement has been published. Our marriage is looked for 
by a host of friends and acquaintances, and even by the mere 
readers of the newspapers. All but at the last moment, on a 
caprice, an impulse you do not pretend to justify to one's 
intelligence, you declare it is all at an end. Pray, how do 
you propose to satisfy natural curiosity about such a strange 
event ? " 

" I take all the blame. I make it known that I have 
behaved — unreasonably ; if you will, disgracefully." 

" That word," replied Jacks, faintly smiling, " has a meaning 
in this connection which you would hardly care to reflect 
upon. Take it that you have said this to your friends : what 
do /say to mitie?" 

Irene could not answer, 

" 1 have a pleasant choice," he pursued, " I can keep 
silence — which would mean scandal, affecting both of us, 
according to people's disposition. Or I can say, with simple 
pathos, 'Miss Derwent begged me to release her.' Neither 
alternative is agreeable lo me. It may be unchivalrous. 
Possibly another man would beg to be allowed to sacrifice 
his reputation, to ensure your quiet release. To be frank 

th you, I value my reputation, I value m^ cVianwa vcv\&t. 

lave no mind to make myself appeal wo^sfc 'Cs\i.vv\ a.\^^ 



r 



1 

1. Jacks ■ 
t, 

iindly 
.t th^^ 



I 



336 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

Irene had sunk into a chair again. As he talked, Jacks 
moved to a sofa near her, and dropped on to the end of it, 

" Surely there is a way," began the girl's voice, profoundly 
troubled. "We could let it be known, first of all, that 
marriage was postponed. Then — there would be less 
afterwards." 

He leaned towards her, upon his elbow. 

"It interests me — your quiet assumption that my feelings 
count for nothing." 

Irene reddened. She was conscious of having ignored that 
aspect of the matter, and dreaded to have to speak of it. For 
the revelation made to her of late taught her that, whatever 
Aniold Jacks' idea of love might be, it was not hers. Yet 
perhaps, in his way, he loved her — the way which had found 
expression a few minutes ago. 

" I can only repeat that 1 am ashamed. 

" If you would grant me some explanation," Jacks resumi 
with his most positive air, that of the born man of busint 
" Don't be afraid of hurting my sensibiHties. Have I coi 
mitted myself in any way ? " 

"It is a change in myself — I was too hasty— I reflecti 
afterwards instead of before" — 

"Forgive me if I make the most of that admission. Your 
hastiness was certainly not my fault. I did not unduly press 
you ; there was no importunity. Such being the case, don't 
you think I may suggest that you ought to bear the con: 
quences? I can't — I really can't think them so dreadful," 

Irene kept silence, her face bent and averted. 

" Many a gtrl has gone through what you feel now, 
doubt whether ever one before acted like this. They ki 
their word ; it was a point of honour." 

" I know ; it is true." She forced herself to look at hii 
" And the result was lives of misery — dishonour — tragedies." 

" Oh, come now " — 

" You dare not contradict me ! " Her eyes flashed ; 
let her feeling have its way. " As a man of the world, y( 
know the meaning of such marriages, and what they may,-^ 
what they do often, come to. A girl hears of such facts — 
realises them too late. You smile. No, I don't want to talk 
for effect ; it isn't my way. All I mean is that I, like so mai^ 



und 

netfl 

=-1 



^H^ girls who have never been in love, accepted an olfer of marri^^M| 
^^k oa the wrong grounds, and came to lea\ \tc3 wiisAaJta — 1^^^| 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 237 

knows how? — not long after. What you are asking me to 
do, is to pay for the innocent error with my Hfe. The price 
is too great You speak of your feelings ; they are not so 
strong as to justify such a demand — And there's another 
thought that surely must have entered your mind. Knowing 
that I feel it impossible to marry you, how can you still, with 
any shadow of self-respect, urge me to do so ? Is your answer, 
again, fear of what people will say? That seems to me more 
than cowardice. How strange that an honourable man doesn't 
see it so ! " 

Jacks abandoned his easy posture, sat straight, and fixed 
upon her the look of masculine disdain. 

" I simply don't believe in the impossibility of your becom- 
ing my wife." 

"Then talk is useless, I can only tell you the truth, and 
reclaim my liberty." 

" It's a question of time. You wouldn't — well, say you 
couldn't, marry me to-morrow. A month hence you would 
be willing. Because you suffer from a passing illusion, I am 
to unsettle all my arrangements, and face an intolerable 
humiliation. The thing is impossible." 

With vast relief Irene heard him return upon this note, and 
strike it so violently. She felt no more compunction. The 
man was finally declared to her, and she could hold her own 
against him. Her headache had grown fierce ; her mouth 
was dry; shudders of hot and cold ran through her. The 
struggle must end soon. 

" I am forgetting hospitality," she said, with sudden return 
to her ordinary voice. " You would like tea." 

Arnold waved his hand contemptuously. 

"No? — Then let us understand each other in the fewest 
possible words," 

"Good." He smiled, a smile which seemed to tighten 
every muscle of his face. " I decline to release you from 
' your promise." 

She could meet his gaze, and did so as she answered with 
cold collectedness : 

" I am very sorry. I think it unworthy of you." 

" I shall make no change whatever in my arrangements. 
Our marriage will take place on the day appointed." 

"That can hardly be, Mr. Jacks, if the bride is not thete." 

*' Miss Derwen^ the bride wiW be \.\\eTe\" 



w 



I 



?S8 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

He was not jesting. AQ the tnan's pride rose to asseit 
<jn»nininn The pTUDC characteristic of his nation, that 
personal arrogance which is the root of English freedom, 
which accounts for et-eirthing best, and evei^thu^ worst, in 
the growth of English power, possessed Eim^ to the~eiccIusion 
of all less essential qoalities. He was the subduer amazed by 
improbable defiance. He had never seen himself in such a 
^tualion ; it was as though a British admiral on his ironclad 
found himself mocked by some elusive Utde gunboat, newly 
invented by the condemned foreigner. His intellect refused 
to acknowledge the possibility of discomfiture ; bis soul raged 
mightily against the hint of bafflemenL Humour would no 
come to his aid; the hghter elements of race were ousti 
he was solid insolence, wooden-headed self-wilL 

Irene had risen. 

" I am not feeling quite myself. I have said all there i; 
be said, and I must beg you to excuse me." 

" You should have begun by saying that It is what ] 
insisted upon." 

"Shall we shake hands, Mr. Jacks?" 

" It is good-bye. You understand me? If, after this, yo 
imagine an engagement between us, you have only yoursd 
to blame." 

"I take the responsibility." He released her hand, 
made a stiff bow. "In three days, I shall call." 

" You will not see me." 

" Perhaps not. Then, three days later. Nothing whatever 
is changed between us. A little discussion of this sort is all 
to the good. Plainly, you have thought me a much weaka 
man than I am ; when that error of judgment is remove^ 
our relations will be better than ever." 

The temptation to say one word more overcame Irene's 
finer sense of the becoming. Jacks had already taken 1 * 
hat, and was again bowing, when she spoke. 

" You are so sure that your will is stronger than mine ? " 

" Perfectly sure," he replied, with superb tranquillity. 

No one had ever seen, no one again would ever see, that 
face of high disdainful beauty, pain-stricken on the fair brow, 
which Irene for a moment turned upon him. As he withdrew, 
the Bmile that lurked behind her scorn glimmered forth fo^ 
fuiinat&nt, and passedmlhelB.\\\n^o(a.t.e;e.^. ^ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 239 

She went to her room, and lay down. The sleep she had 
not dared to hope for fell upon her whilst she was trying to 
^t her thoughts in order. She slept until eight o'clock ; her 
headache was gone. 

Neither with her father, nor with Olga, did she speak of 
what had passed. 

Before going to bed, she packed carefully a large dress- 
basket and a travelling-bag, which a servant brought down 
for her from the box-room. Again she slept, but only for an 
hour or two, and at seven in the morning she rose. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

• 

THE break£^t hour was nine o'clock. Dr. Derwent, as 
usual, came down a few minutes before, and turned 
over the letters lying for him on the table. Among them he 
found an envelope addressed in a hand which looked very 
much like Irene's; it had not come by post As he was 
reading the note it contained, Eustace and Olga Hannaford 
entered together, talking. He bade them good-morning, and 
all sat down to table. 

"Irene's late," said Eustace presently, glancing at the 
clock. 

The Doctor looked at him, with an odd smile. 

"She left Victoria ten minutes ago," he said, "by the 
Calais-boat express." 

Eustace and Olga stared, exclaimed. 

" She suddenly made up her mind to accept an invitation 
from Mrs. Borisoff." 

" But — what an extraordinary thing ! " pealed Eustace, who 
was always greatly disturbed by anything out of routine. " She 
didn't spieak of it yesterday ! " 

Olga gazed at the Doctor. Her wan face had a dawn of 
brightness. 

" How long is she likely to stay, uncle ? " 

" I haven't the least idea." 

"Well, she can't stay long," Eustace exclaimed. "Ah ! I 
have it! Don't you see, Olga? It means Parisian dresses 
and hats ! " 

Dr. Derwent exploded in laughter. 

" Acute young man ! Now the ordinary male might have 
lost himself for a day in wild conjectures. This points to 
the woolsack, Olga ! " 

She laughed, for the first time in many days, and her appetite 
for breakfast was at once improved. 
In bis heart Dr. Derwent d\d ivol \g[\eN^ over the singular 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



241 



events of yesterday and this morning. He had no fault to 
find with Arnold Jacks, and could cheerfully accept him as a 
son-in-law ; but it was easy to imagine a husband more suitable 
for such a girl as Irene. Moreover, he had suspected, since 
the engagement, that she had not thoroughly known her own 
mind. But he was far from anticipating such original and 
decisive action on the girl's part. The thing being done, he 
could secretly admire it, and the flight to Paris relieved his 
mind from a prospect of domestic confusion. Just for a 
moment he questioned himself as to Irene's security, but only 
to recognise how firm was his confidence in her. 

Socially, the position was awkward. He had a letter from 
Jacks, a sensible and calmly worded letter, saying that Irene 
was overwrought by recent agitations, that she had spoken of 
putting art end to their engagement, but that doubtless a few 
days would see all right again. Arnold must now be apprised 
of what had happened, and, as all consideration was due to 
him, the Doctor despatched a telegram asking him to call as 
soon as he could. This brought Jacks to Bryanston Square 
at midday, and there was a conversation in the library. 
Arnold spoke his mind; with civility, but in unmistakable 
terms, he accused the Doctor of remissness. "Paternal 
authority," it seemed to him, should have sufficed to prevent 
what threatened nothing less than a scandal. Irene's father 
could not share this view ; the girl was turned three-and- 
twenty ; there could be no question of dictating to her, and 
as for expostulation, it had been honestly tried. 

"You are aware, I hope," said Jacks stiflly, "that Mrs. 
Borisoff has not quite an unclouded reputation ? " 

" 1 know no harm against her." 

" She is as good as parted from her husband, and leads a 
very dubious wandering life." 

"Oh, ifs all right People countenance her who wouldn't 
do so if there were anything really amiss." 

" Well, Dr. Derwent," said the young man, in a conclusive 
lone, " evidently all is at an end. It remains for us to agree 
upon the manner of making it known. Should the announce- 
It come from your side or from mine ? " 
"he Doctor reflected. 

no longer propose to wait the effect of a little time ? " 
jhatically, no. This step of Miss Derwent's puts that 
Nit of the question." 
16 



342 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



"I see. — Perhaps you feel that, in justice to yourselft,; 
shouid be made known that she has done something of ■ ' " 
you disapprove ? " 

Arnold missed the quiet irony of this question. 

" Not at all. Our engagement ended yesterday ; 
to-day's events I have nothing to do." 

"That is the generous view," said Dr. Derwent, smili 
pleasantly. " Do you know, I fancy we had better each of 
tell the story in his own way. It will come to that in the ei 
won't it? You had a disagreement; you thought better 
your proposed union ; what more simple? I see no room 
scandal." 

" Be it so. Have the kindness to acquaint Miss Dei 
with what has passed between us." 

After dinner that evening, Dr. Derwent related the m: 
to his son. Eustace was astounded, and presently indigns 
It seemed to him inconceivable that Arnold Jacks should 
have suffered this aflront. He would not look at things from 
his sister's point of view ; absurd to attempt a defence of her ; 
really, really, she had put them all into a most painful position ! 
An engagement was an engagement, save in the event of grave 
culpabiUty on either side. Eustace spoke as a lawyer ; ' ' 
professional instincts were outraged. He should certainly 
upon the Jackses and utterly dissociate himself from his 
in this lamentable aRair. 

" Why, what a shock it will be to Mrs. Jacks I " 

" She'll get over it, I fancy," remarked the Doctor drily. 

The young barrister withdrew to his room, where he read 
hard until very late. Eustace was no trifler ; he bad brains, 
and saw his way to make use of them to the one end which 
addressed his imagination, that of social self-advancement. 
His studies to-night were troubled with a resentful fear lest 
Irene's "unwomanly" behaviour {a generation ago it would 
have been " unladylike " ) should bruig the family name into 
some discredit. Little ejaculations escaped him, such 
" Really I " and " Upon my word ! " Eustace had n 
known to use stronger language. 

■\Vhen his son had retired. Dr. Derwent stepped up to 
drawing-room, where Olga Hannaford was sitting. 
kindly regretting that she should be alone, he repealed to 
niece what he had just told Eustace. Doubtless she wi 
hear very soon from Irene, 



; his 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 243 

" I have already heard something about this," said Olga. 
" I'm sure she has done right, but no one will ever know what 
it cost her." 

" That's the very point we have all been losing sight of," 
observed her uncle, gratified. " It would have been a good 
deal easier, no doubt, to go on to the marriage." 

"Easier !" echoed the girl. "She has done the most wonder- 
ful thing ! I admire her, and envy her strength of character." 

The Doctor's eyes had fallen upon that crayon portrait 
which held the place of honour on the drawing-room walls, 
Playing with superstition, as does every man capable of high 
emotional Hfe, he was wont to see in the pictured countenance 
of his dead wife changes of expression, correspondent with the 
niDod in which he regarded it. At one time the beloved 
features smiled upon him ; at another they were sad, or 
anxious. To-night, the eyes, the lips were so strongly expres- 
sive of gladness that he felt startled as he gazed, A joy from 
the years gone by suddenly thrilled him. He sat silent, too 
deeply moved by memories for speech about the present. And 
when at length he resumed talk with Olga, his voice was very 
gentle, his words all kindliness. The girl had never known 
him SQ sympathetic with her, 

On the morrow — it was Saturday — Olga received a letter 
from Piers Otway, who said that he had something of great 
importance to speak about, and must see her ; could they not 
meet at the Campden Hill house, it being badvisable for him 
to caU at Dr. Derwent's ? Either this afternoon or to-morrow 
would do, if Olga would appoint a time. 

She tel^raphed, appointing this afternoon at three. 

Half an hour before that, she entered the house, which was 
now occupied only by a caretaker. Dr. Derwent was trying 
to let it furnished for the rest of the short lease. Olga had a 
fire quickly made in the drawing-room, and ordered lea. She 
laid aside her outdoor things, viewed herself more than once 
in a mirror, and moved about restlessly. When there sounded 
a visitor's knock at the front door, she flushed and was over- 
come with nervousness ; she stepped forward to meet her 
friend, but could not speak. Otway had taken her hand in 
both his own ; he looked at her with grave kindUness. It was 
theii &nt meeting since Mrs. Hannaford's death. 

1 about asking you to see me heie^ V^ btcA. 
fel thoiight— J hoped "— 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



Iga was gaining self- 



1 

self- 
eyeSj 



Mis embairassment increased, whilst C 
command. 

" You were quite right," she said. " I think I had rather 
see you here than anywhere else. It isn't painful to me — oh, ^ 
anything but painful ! " 

They sat down. Piers was holding a large envelope, bul 
with its contents, whatever they were, and sealed; his ( 
rested upon it. 

"I have to speak of something which at first will sound 
unwelcome to you ; but it is only the preface to what will 
make you very glad. It is about my brother. I have seen 
him two or three times this last week on a particular business, 
in which at length I have succeeded. Here," he touched the 
envelope, " are all the letters he possessed in your mother's 
writing." 

Olga looked at him in distressful wonder and suspense. 

"Not one of them," he pursued, "contain? a line that y 
should not read. They prove absolutely, beyond shadow 
doubt, that the charge brought against your mother was fali . 
The dates cover nearly five years— from a simple note of inviti 
tion to Ewell — you remember — down to a letter written ab( 
three weeks ago. Of course I was obliged to read thei^^ 
through ; I knew to begin with what I should find. Now I 
give them to you. Let Dr. Derwent see them. If any doubt 
remains in his mind, they will make an end of it," 

He put the packet into Olga's hands. She, overcome for ^ 
the moment by her feelings, looked from it to him, at a Ii 
for words. She was struck with a change in Otway. 
he should speak in a grave tone, with an air of sadness, n 
only natural j but the change went beyond this ; he had nof 
his wonted decision in utterance; he paused between 
sentences, his eyes wandering dreamily ; one would have 
taken him for an older man than he was wont to appear, 
and of less energy. Thus might he have looked and spoken 
after some great effort, which left him wearied, almost languid, 
incapable of strong emotion. 

" Why didn't be show these letters before ? " she asked, 
turning over the sealed envelope. 

"He had no wish to do so," answered Piers, 
undertone. 

"You mean that he would liave let anything happen 
which be could have prevenXcA^" 



ne for 
alouJ 
Thd 

ss, waH 



asked, 



^piis 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 345 

I'm afraid he would." 

But he offered them now?" 

No — or rather yes, he offered them," Piers smiled bitterly. 

Not, however, out of wish to do justice." 

Olga could not understand. She gazed at him wistfully. 

'' I bought them," said Piers. " It made the last proof of 
baseness." 

'You gave money for them? And just that you might 
give them to me?" 

" Wouldn't you have done the same, to dear the memory 
of someone you loved?" 

Olga laid the packet aside ; then, with a quick movement, 
stepped towards him, caught his hand, pressed it to her lips. 
Piera was taken by surprise, and could not prevent the action ; 
but at once Olga's own hand was prisoned in his ; they stood 
face to face, she blushbg painfully, he pale as death, with lips 
that quivered in their vain effort to speak. 

"I shall be grateful to you as long as I live," the girl 
faltered, turning half away, trying gently to release herself. 

Piers kissed her hand, again and again, still speechless. 
When he allowed her to draw it away, he stood gazing at her 
like a man bewildered ; there was moisture on his forehead ; 
he seemed to struggle for breath. 

"Let us sit down again and talk," said Olga, glancing at 
him. 

But he moved towards her, the strangest look in his eyes, 
the fixed expressionless gaze of a somnambulist. 

"Olga"— 

" No, no I " she exclaimed, as if suddenly stricken with fear, 
throwing out her arms to repe! him. " You didn't mean that ! 
It is my fault. You never meant that." 

" Yes ! Give me your hand again ! " he said in a thick 
voice, the blood rushing into his cheeks. 

" Not now. You misunderstood me. I oughtn't to have 
done that. It was because I could find no word 10 thank 
you." 

She panted the sentences, holding her chair as if to support 
herself, and with the other hand still motioning him away. 

"I misunderstood^?" 

" I am ashamed — it was thoughlless — sit dowTi and lel us 
talk as we were doing. Just as friends, it is so wvi.<^\\Vitt'*.'«, 
We toeant nothing else." 




a46 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

It was as if the words fell from her involuntarily : they were 
babbled^ rather than spoken; she half laughed, half cried. 
And Otway, a mere automaton, dropped upon his chair, 
gazing at her, trembling. * 

" I will let my uncle see the letters at once," Olga went on, 
in confused hurry. " I am sure he will be very grateful to you. 
But for you, we should never have had this proof. I, 
course, did not need it ; as if I doubted my mother ! B 
he — I can't be sure what he stiU thinks. How kind you have 
always been to us ! " 

Piers stood up again, but did not move toward her. 
watched him apprehensively. He walked half down the 
and back again, then exclaimed, with a wild gesture : . 

" I never knew what a curse one's name could be ! /I 
to be proud of it, because it was my father's ; ncnr'i 
gladly take any other." ( --'-'' 

"Just because of that man?" Olga protested.' "What 
does it matter?" 

"You know well what it matters," he replied, with an 
unnatural laugh. 

"To me — nothing whatever." 

"You try to think not. But the name will be secretly 
hateful to you as long as you live." 

" Oh ! How can you say that ! The name is yours, not 
his. Think how long we knew you before we heard of him ! 
I am telling the simple truth. It is you I think of, when " — 

He was drawing nearer to her, and again that strange, fixed 
look came into his eyes. 

"I wanted to ask you something," said Olga quickly. 
"Do sit down — will you? Let us talk as we used to — you 
remember ? " 

He obeyed her, but kept his eyes on her face, 

"What do you wish to ask, Olga?" 

The name slipped from his tongue ; he had not meant to 
use it, and did not seem conscious of having done so. 

" Have you seen old Mr. Jacks lately ? " 

" I saw him last night." 

" Last night ? " Her breath caught. " Had he anything — 
anything interesting to say ? " 

" He is ill. I only sat with him for half an' hour. I don't 
know what it is. It doesn't keep him in bed ; but he lies on 
a sofa, and looks dreadfuWy \\\, aa \f Ke suffered much pain." 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 247 

He told you nothing ? " 

Their eyes met. 

" Nothing that greatly interested me," replied Piers heavily, 
with the most palpSble feint of carelessness. " He mentioned 
what of course you know, that Arnold Jacks is not going to be 
^ married after aU." 

^^ Olga's head drooped, as she said in a voice barely audible : 
^B " Ah, you knew it," 
^ /'What of that?" 
L^ ' " I see — you knew it " — 

W\ " What of that, Olga ? " he repeated impatiently. " I knew 
it as a bare fact — no explanation. What does it mean ? You 
liiiow, I suppose ?" 

In spite of himself, look and tones betrayed his eagerness 
for her reply. 

" They disagreed about something," said Olga. " I don't 
know what. 1 shouldn't wonder if they make it up again." 

At this moment the woman in care of the house entered 
with the tea-tray. To give herself a countenance, Olga spoke 
of something indifferent, and when they were alone E^ain, their 
talk avoided the personal matters which had so embarrassed 
both of them. Olga said presently that she was going to see 
her friend Miss Bonnicastle to-morrow. 

" If 1 could see only the least chance of supporting myself, 
I would go to live with her again. She's the most sensible 
girl I know, and she did me good." 

" How, did you good ?" 

"She helped me against myself," replied Olga abruptly. 
" No one else ever did that" 

Then she turned again to the safer subjects. 

"When shall I see you again?" Otway inquired, rising after 
a long silence, during which both had seemed lost in their 
thoughts. 

"Who knows? — But I will write and tell you what my 
uncle says about the letters, if he says anything. Again, thank 

She gave her hand frankly. Piers held it, and looked into 
her face as once before. 

"Olga"- 

Tbe gir! uttered a cry of distress, drew her hand away, and 
exclaimed in a half-hysterical voice : 

" No ! What right have you ? " 



248 THE CROWN OF LIFE ' 

" Every right ! Do you know what your mother said to me 
— her last words to me — ? " 

" You mustn't tell me ! " Her tones were softer. " Not to-day. 
If we meet again " — 

" Of course we shall meet again ! " 

"I don't know. — Yes, yes; we shall But you must go 
now ; it is time I went home." 

He touched her hand again, and left the room without 
looking back. Before the door had closed behind him, Ol 
ran forward with a stifled cry. The door was shut S 
stood before it with tears in her eyes, her fingers clenched 
together on her breast, and sobbed miserably. 

For nearly half an hour she sat by the fire, head on hands, 
deeply brooding. In the house there was not a sound All 
at once it seemed to her that a voice called, uttering her name ; 
she started, her blood chilled with fear. The voice was her 
mother's ; she seemed still to hear it, so plainly had it been 
audible, coming from she knew not where. 

She ran to her hat and jacket, which lay in a corner of the 
room, put them on with feverish haste, and fled out into the 
street. 




pT WILL be frank with you, Piers," said Daniel Otway, as 
I ■*■ he sat by the fireside in his shabby lodgings, his feet on 
■the fender, a cigarette between his fingers. He looked yellow 
and dried up ; shivered now and then, and had a troublesome 
cough. " If I could afford to be generous, I would be ; I 
should enjoy it It's one of the worst evils of poverty, that a 
man can seldom obey the promptings of his better self. I 
can't give you these letters ; can't afford to do so. You have 
glanced through them ; you see they really are what I said. 
The question is, what are they worth to you ? " 

Piers looked at the threadbare carpet, reflected, spoke. 

" I'll give you fifty pounds." 

A smile crept from the corner of Daniel's shrivelled lips to 
his bloodshot eye. 

"Why you are so anxious to have them," he said, "I don't 
know and don't ask. But if they are worth fifty to you, they 
are worth more. You shall have ihetn for two hundred." 

And at this figure the bundle of letters eventually changed 
hands. It was a serious drain on Piers Otway's resources, but 
he could not bargain long, the talk sickened him. And when 
the letters were in his possession, he felt a joy which had no 
equivalent in terms of cash. 

He said to himself that he had bought them for Olga. In 
a measure, of course, for all who would be relieved by knowing 
that Mrs. Hannaford had told the truth ; but first and foremost 
for Olga. On Olga he kept his thoughts. He was persuading 
himself that in her he saw his heart's desire. 

For Piers Otway was one of those men who cannot live 
without a woman's image to worship. Irene Derwent being 
now veiled from him, he turned to another beautiful face, in 
whose eyes the familiar light of friendship seemed to be chang- 
ing, softening. Ambition had misled him ■, i\Qt his Vo \A\sa»^ 
Klhe heights of glorious passion ; fot U'lm a Vu'aiNAe^V'Myi-'- 
a4B 



b 

I. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 

ness, a calmer love. Vet he would not have been Piera 
Otway had this mood contented him. On the second day of 
his dreaming about Olga, she began to shine before his 
im^ination in no pale hght. He mused upon her features 
till they became the ideal beauty ; he clad her, body and soi ' 
in all the riches of love's treasure-house ; she was at length ' 
crowned lady, his perfect vision of delight. 

With such thoughts had he sat by Mrs. Hannaford, 
meeting which was to be their last. He was about to ui 
them, when she spoke Olga's name. " In you she will alwayij 
have a friend? If the worst happens — ?" And when he 
asked, " May I hope that she would some day let tne be 
more than that?" the glow of joy on that stricken face, the 
cry of rapture, the hand held to him, stirred him so deeply 
that his old love-longing seemed a boyish fantasy. "Oh, you 
have made me happy ! You have blotted out all my follies 
and sufferings ! " Then the poor tortured mind lost itself. 

This was the second death which had upon Piers Otway 
the ageing effect known to all men capable of thoughts about 
mortality. The loss of his father marked for him the end of 
irresponsible years ; he entered upon manhood with that grief 
blended of reverence and affection. By the grave of Mrs. 
Hannaford (he stood there only after the burial) he w 
touched again by the advancing shadow of life's dial, and 
marked the end of youth. For youth is a term relative 
heart and mind. At six-and-tweniy many a man has of maiv 
hood only the physique ; many another is already falling 
through experience to a withered age. Piers had the sense of 
transition ; the middle years were opening before him. The 
tears he shed for his Mend were due in part to the poignant 
perception of utter severance with boyhood. But a few weeks 
ago, talking with Mrs. Hannaford, he could revive the spirit 
of those old days at Geneva, feel his identity with the Piers 
Otway of that time. It would never be within his power 
again. He might remember, but memory showed another 
than himself. 

A note from John Jacks summoned him to Queen's Gate. 
Not till afterwards did he understand that Mr, Jacks' real 
motive in sending for him was to get light upon the rupture 
between Arnold and Miss Derwent, Piers' astonishment at 
what he heard caused his friend to quit the subject. 

In the night that foWowed, YVcis ^m ^Vc first, time in b^ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 251 

life felt the possibility of base action. The experience has 
come to all men, and, whatever the result, always leaves its 
mark. Looking at the fact of Irene's broken engagement, he 
could explain it only in one way ; the cause must be Mrs, 
Hannaford — the doubt as to her behaviour, the threatened 
scandal. Idle to attempt surmises as to the share of either 
side in what had come about ; the difference had been suffici- 
ently grave to part them. And this parting was to him a joy 
which shook his whole being. He could have raised a song 
of exultation. 

And in his hands lay complete evidence of the dead 
woman's guiltlessness. To produce it was possibly to reconcile 
Arnold Jacks and Irene. Viewed by his excited mind, the 
possible became certain ; he evolved a whole act of drama 
between those two, turning on prejudices, doubts, scruples 
natural in their position ; he saw the effect of their enlighten- 
ment. Was it a tempting thought, that he could give Irene 
back again into her bridegroom's arms? 

It brought sweat to his forehead; it shook him with the 
fierce torture of a jealous imagination. He fortified base 
suggestion by the natural revolt of his flesh. Once had he 
passed through the fite ; to suffer that ordeal again was be- 
yond human endurance. Irene was free. He paced the room, 
repeating wildly that Irene was free. And the mere fact of her 
freedom proved that she did not love the man — so it seemed 
to him, in his subordination of every motive to that passionate 
impulse. To him it brought no hope — what of that ! Irene 
did not belong to another man. 

The fire needed stirring. As he broke the black surface of 
coal, a flame shot up, red, lambent, a serpent's tongue. It 
had a voice ; it tempted. He took the packet of letters from 
the table. 

He had not yet read them through ; had only tested them 
here and there under his brother's eye. Yes, they were the 
letters of a woman who, suffering (as he knew) the strongest 
temptation to which her nature could be exposed, subdued 
herself in obedience to what she held the law of duty. He 
read page after page. Again and again she all but said, " I 
love you " ; again and again she told her tempter that his suit 
was useless, that she would rather die than yield. Daniel 
Otway had used every argument to persuade her to de.?i Oaa. 
world and follow him— easy to undersUtvA V\^ xwi'Cw^. *^wki 



3S» 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



saw Ihat, if she had been alone, she would have done so ; but 
there was her daughter, there was her brother ; lo them she 
sacrificed what seemed to her the one chance of happiness 
left in a wasted life. 

Piers interrupted his reading to hear once more the 
that counselled baseness. \Vhom would it injure, 
destroyed these papers ? Certainly not Irene, his first thougl 
who, he held it proved, was well rescued from a. mistakert 
marriage. Not Dr. Derwent, or Olga, who, he persuaded 
himself, had aheady no doubt whatever of Mrs. Hannaford's 
innocence. Not the poor dead woman herself— 

What was this passage on which his eye had fallen ? "I 
have long had a hope that your brother Piers might marry 
Olga. It would make me very happy ; I cannot imagine fur 
her a better husband. It came first into my mind years ago, 
at Geneva, and I have never lost the wish. Ah ! how grateful 
you would make me, it, forgetting ourselves, you would join 
me in somehow trying to bring about this happiness for those 
two ! Piers is coming to live in London. Do see as much 
of him as you can. I think very, very highly of him, and he 
is almost as dear to me as a son of my own. Speak to him 
of Olga. Sometimes a suggestion — and you know that I desire 
only his good." " 

The voice spoke to him from the grave ; it had a swe( 
tone than that other. He read on ; he came to the 
sheet — so sad, so hopeless, that it brought tears to his eyes. 

" Cannot you defend me ? Cannot you prove the U ' 
hood of that story ? Cannot you save me from this bil 
disgrace ? Oh, who will show the truth and do me justice ? 

Could he bum that letter? Could he close his ears 
that cry of one driven to death by wrong ? 

He drew a deep sigh, and looked about him as if 
from a bad dream. Why, he had come near to whole brot 
hood with a man as coldly cruel and infamous as any 
walked the earth I Destroying these letters, he would hi 
been worse than Daniel. 

Straightway he wrote to Olga, requesting the appointmei 
with her. Upon Olga once more he fixed his mind. He 
resolved that he would not part from her without asking her 
to be his wife. If he had but done so before hearing that 
news from John Jacks! Then it seemed to him that Ol 
trss bis happiness, 






] 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 253 

From the house at Campden Hill he came away in a 
strangely excited mood ; glad, sorry ; cold, desirous ; torn 
this way and that by conflict of passions and reasons. The 
only clear thought in his mind was that he had done a great 
act of justice. How often does it fall to a man to enjoy 
this privilege? Not once in a hfetime to the multitude; 
such opportunity is the signal favour of fate. Had he let 
it pass, Piers felt he must have sunk so in his own esteem, 
that no light of noble hope would ever again have shone 
before him. He must have gone plodding the very mire of 
existence — Daniel's brother, never again anything but Daniel's 
brother. 

^Voll]d Dr. Derwent give him a thought of thanks P Would 
Irene hear how those letters were recovered ? 

Sunday passed, he knew not well how. He wrote a letter 
to Olga, but destroyed it. On Monday he was very busy, 
chiefly at the warehouses of the Commercial Docks ; a man of 
affairs ; to look upon, not strikingly different from many another 
with whom he rubbed shoulders in Fenchurch Street and 
elsewhere. On Tuesday he had_to go to Liverpool, to see an 
acquaintance of Moncharmont who might perchance be useful 
to them. The journey, the change, were not unpleasant. He 
passed the early evening with the man in question, who asked 
him at what hotel he meant to sleep. Piers named the house 
he had carelessly chosen, adding that he had not been there 
yet ; his bag was still at the station. 

" Don't go there," said his companion, " It's small and 
uncomfortable and dear. You'll do much better at ." 

^Vithout giving a thought to the matter, Otway accepted 
this advice. He went to the station, withdrew his bag, and 
bade a cabman drive him to the hotel his acquaintance had 
named. But no sooner had the cab started than he felt an 
unaccountable misgiving, an uneasiness as to this change of 
purpose. Strange as he was to Liverpool, there seemed no 
reason why he should hesitate so about his hotel ; yet the 
mental disturbance became so strong that, when all but arrived, 
he stopped the cab and bade his driver take him to the other 
house, that which he had originally chosen. A downright 
piece of superstition, he said to liimself, with a nervous 
laugh. He could not remember to have ever behaved so 
^^mpriciously. 
^^EThe hotel pleased him. After inspetun^ \\\5. \ie&;wiw>,Ve. 



I 



I 



I 



I 



254 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

came down again to smoke and glance over the newspapen 
it was about half-past nine. Half a dozen men were in th 
smoking-room ; by ten o'clock there remained, exclusive I 
Piers, only three, of whom two were discussing politics by th 
fireside, whilst the third sat apart from them in a deep c 
reading a book. The political talk began to interest Otway 
he listened, behind his newspaper, The louder of 
disputants was a man of about fifty, dressed like a pcosperoii 
merchant ; his cheeks were flabby, his chin triple or quadrupl 
his short neck, always very red, grew crimson as he excite 
himself. He was talking about the development of market 
for British wares, and kept repeating the phrase '' 
outlets," as if it had a flavour which he enjoyed, Englant 
he declared, was falling behind in the competition for l' 
world's trade. 

"It won't do. Mark my word, if we don't show moi 
spirit, we shall be finding ourselves in Queer Street. Look i 
China, now ! I call it a monstrous thing, perfectly monstrou 
the way we're neglecting China." 

" My dear sir," said the other, a thin, bilious man, i 
an undecided manner, "we can't force our goods on 
country " — 

" What ! Why, that's exactly what we can do, and ought to d< 
What we always katie done, and always must do, if we're goiii 
to hold our own," vociferated he of the crimson neck. '' ' 
speaking of China, if you hadn't interrupted me. What are th 
Russians doing ? Why, making a railway straight to China 
And we look on, as if it didn't matter, when the matter : 
national life or death. Let me give you some figures. I kno 
what I'm talking about. Are you aware that our trade wit 
China amounts to only half a crown a head of the Chines 
population ? Half a crown I While with little Japan, 
trade comes to something like eighteen shillings a hf 
Let me tell you that the equivalent of that in China woul 
represent about three hundred and sixty millions pe 

He rolled out the figures with gusto culminating in rage 
His eyes glared ; he snorted defiance, turning from 
companion to the two strangers whom he saw seated befoi 
tiim. 

"I say that it's our duty to force our trade upon Chin 
It's for China's good — can ^ovi dan-j that? A huge counti 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 355 

packed with wretched barbarians ! Our trade civilises them — 
can you deny it? It's our duty, as the leading Power of the 
world ! Hundreds of millions of poor miserable barbariwis, 
And " — he shouted — " what else are the Russians, if you come 
to that ? Can ihey civilise China ? A filthy, ignorant nation, 
frozen into stupidity, and downtrodden by an Autocrat ! " 

"Well," murmured the diffident objector, "I'm no friend of 
tyranny ; I can't say much for Russia "— 

" 1 should think you couldn't. Who can ? A country 
plunged in the darkness of the Middle Ages ! The country 
of the knovl \ Pah 1 \Vho can say anything for Russia ? " 

Vociferating thus, the champion of civilisation fixed his 
glare upon Otway, who, having laid down the paper, answered 
this look of challenge with a smile. 

"As you seem to appeal to me," sounded in Piers' voice, 
which was steady and good-humoured, " I'm bound to say that 
Russia isn't altogether without good points. Vou spoke of it, 
by the bye, as the country of the knout ; but the knout, as a 
matter of fact, was abolished long ago." ■ 

" Well, well^yes ; yes— one knows ; all about that," 
stammered the loud man. " But the country is still ruled \\\ 
the spirit of the knout. It doesn't affect my argument. Take 
it broadly, on an ethnological basis." He expanded his 
chest, sticking his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat. 
" The Russians are a Slavonic people, I presume ? " 

" Largely Slav, yes." 

" And pray, sir, what have the Slavs done for the world ? 
What do we owe them ? What Slavonic name can anyone 
mention in the history of progress?" 

"Two occur to me," replied Piers, in the same quiet tone, 
" well worthy of a place in the history of intellectual progress. 
There was a Pole named Kopemik, known to you, no doubt, 
as Copernicus, who came before Galileo ; and there was 
a Czech named Huss — John Huss — who came before 
Luther." 

The bilious man was smiling. The fourth person present 
in the room, who sat with his book at some distance, 
had turned his eyes upon Otway with a look of peculiar 
interest. 

" You've made a special study, I suppose, of this sort of 
thiog," said the fat-faced politician, with a grin which tried to 
' e civil, conveying, in truth, the radicaV ^n^viV c»\*aiM^\w 



«56 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



::::| 



mere intelleclual attainment. " You're a supporter of 
I suppose ? " 

" I have no such pretension. Russia interests 
all." 

" Come now, would you say that in any single point 
Russia, modem Russia, as we understand the term, had 
shown the way in firaciica! a.dva.nce? " 

All were attentive — the silent man with the book seeming, ■ 
particularly so. 

" I should say in one rather important point," Piers replie 
" Russia was the first country to abolish capital punishmen 
for ordinary crime." 

The assailant showed himself perplexed, incredulous. 
this state of mind, lasting only for a moment, gave way t 
genial bluster. 

" Oh, come now t 'I'hat's a matter of opinion, 
murderers go unhung "— 

" As you please. I could mention another interesting fa| 
Long before England dreamt of the simplest justice for worn 
it was not an uncommon thing for a Russian peasant, who h 
appropriated money earned by his wife, to be punished w ' * 
flogging by the village commune." 

" A flogging ! Why, there you are ! " cried the other, witn 
hoarse laughter — " What did I say ? If it isn't the knout, it's 
something equivalent. As if we hadn't proved long ago the 
demoralising effect of corporal chastisement 1 We should be 
ashamed, Sir, to flog men nowadays in the army or navy. 
degrades ; we have outgrown it. — No, no, sir, it won't do I 
see you have made a special study, and you've mentioned v 
interesting facts ; but you must see that they are wide of the ' 
mark — painfully wide of the mark. — I must be thinking of 
turning in ; have to be up at six, worse luck, to catch a train. 
Good-night, Mr. Simmonds ! Good-night to you, sir — good- 
night I " 

He bustled away, humming to himself; and, after musing M 
little, the bilious man also left the room. Piers thougl' 
himself alone, but a sound caused him to turn his 1 
the person whom he had foi^otten, the silent reader, 
risen and was moving his way. A tall, slender, graceful 
man, well dressed, aged about thirty. He approached 
Otway, came in front of him, looked at him with a smile, a ' 
spoke. 



Id be 

f the ■ 
ig of 
train. 
;ood- 

leadffl 



ile, aij^— 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



257 



" Sir, will you permit me to thank you for what you have 
said in defence of Russia — my country ? " 

The English was excellent ; almost without foreign accent. 
Piers stood up, and held out his hand, which was cordially 
grasped. He looked into a face readily recognisable as that of 
a Little Russian ; a rather attractive face, with fine, dreamy 
eyes and a mouth expressive of quick sensibility ; above the 
good forehead, waving chestnut hair. 

" You have travelled in Russia ? " pursued the stranger, 

"I lived at Odessa for some years, and I have seen some- 
thing of other parts." 

" You speak the language?" 

Piers offered proof of this attainment, by replying in a few 
Russian sentences. His new acquaintance was delighted, 
again shook hands, and began to talk in his native 
tongue. They exchanged personal information. The Russian 
said that his name was Korolevitch ; that he had an estate in 
the Govemmeiit of Poltava, where he busied himself with 
fanning, but that for two or three months of each year he 
travelled. Last winter he had spent in the United States ; he 
was now visiting the great English seaports, merely for the 
interest of the thing. Otway felt bow much less impressive 
was the account he had to give of himself, hut his new friend 
talked with such perfect simpticity, so entirely as a good- 
humoured man of the world, tliat any feeHng of subordination 
was impos.sible. 

" Poltava I know pretty well," he said gaily. " I've been 
more than once at the July fair, buying wool. At Kharkoff 
too, on the same business." 

They conversed for a couple of hours, at first amusing 
themselves with the rhetoric and ai^umenls of the red-necked 
man. Korolevitch was a devoted student of poetry, and 
discovered not without surprise the Englishman's familiarity 
with that branch of Russian literature. He heard with great 
interest the few words Otway let fall about his father, who 
had known so many Russian exiles. In short, they got 
along together admirably, and, on parting for the night, 
promised each other to meet again in London some ten days 
hence. 

^Vhen he had entered his bedroom, and turned the key in the 
lock, Piers stood musing over this event. Of a sudden there 
; into his mind the inexplicaUe im^uX^t 'RNi^^ \ 



asS THE CROWN OF LIFE 

him to this hotel, rather than to that recommended by the 
Liverpool acquaintance. An odd incident, indeed. It helped 
a superstitious tendency of Otway's mind, the disposition he 
had, spite of obstacle and misfortune, to believe that destiny 
was his friend. 




CHAPTER XXX 



AT home again, Piers wrote to Olga, the greater part of the 
letter being -occupied with an account of what had 
happened at Liverpool. It was not a love-letter, yet differed in 
tone from those he had hitherto written her; he spoke with 
impatience of the circumstances which made it difficult for 
them to meet, and be^ed that it might not be long before 
he saw her again. Olga's reply came quickly ; it was frankly 
intimate, with no suggestion of veiled feeling. Her mother's 
letters, she said, were in Dr. Derwent's hands. " I told him 
who had given them to me, and how you obtained them, I 
doubt whether he will have anything to say to me about 
them, but that doesn't matter ; he knows the truth." As for 
their meeting, any Sunday afternoon he would find her at Miss 
Bonnicastle's, in Great Portland Street. " I wish I were 
living there again," she added. " My uncle is very kind, but 
I can't feel at home here, and hope 1 shall not stay very 
long." 

So, on the next Sunday, Piers wended his way to Great 
Portland Street. Arriving about three o'clock, he found the 
artist of the posters silting alone by her fire, legs crossed and 
cigarette in mouth. 

" Ah, Mr. Otway ! " she exclaimed, turning her head 
to see who entered in reply to her cry of " Don't be 
afraid ! " Without rising, she held a hand to him. " I 
didn't think I should ever see you here again. How are 
you getting on? Beastly aftemoon^ — come and warm your 
toes." 

The walls were hung with clever brutalities of the usual kind. 
Piers glanced from them to Miss Bonnicastle, speculating 
curiously about her. He had no active dislike for this young 
woman, and felt a certain respect for her talent, but he thought, 
as before, how impossible it would be ever to regard her as 
anything hut an abnormality. She was not \W-\w^vt\<^, \nx 



r 



s6o 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



it ™ 



seemed to have no single characteristic of ber sex which 
appealed to him. 

" What do you think of that ? " she asked abruptly, 
banding him an illustrated paper which had lain open 
on her lap. 

The page she indicated was covered with some half-dozen 
small drawings, exhibiting scenes from a popular caf^ in Paris, 
done with a good deal of vigour, and some skill in the seizing 
of facial types. 

" Your work ? " he asked. 

" Mine ? " she cried scoffingly. " 1 could no more do 
than swim the Channel. Look at the name, can't you ?" 

He found it in a corner. 

"Kite? Our friend?" 

"That's the man. He's been looking up since he wer 
Paris. Some things of his in a French paper had a lot of 
praise ; nude figures — queer symbolical stuff, they say, but 
uncommonly well done. I haven't seen them ; in London 
they'd be called indecent, the man said who was telling me 
about them. Of course that's rot. He'll be here in a few days, 
Olga says." 

" She hears from him ? " 

" It was a surprise letter ; he addressed it to this si 
and I sent it on. — That's only pot-boiUng, of 
snatched back the paper. " But it's good in its way — di 
you think ? " 

" Very good." 

" We must see the other things they talk about — the nudi 

There was a knock at the door, " Come along ! ' 
Miss Bonnicastle, craning back her head to see who 
enter. And on the door opening, she uttered an exclainati< 
of surprise. 

" Well, this is a day of the unexpected 1 Didn't know yoff 
were in England." 

Piers saw a slim, dark, handsome man, who, in his elegant 
attire, rather reminded one of a fashion-plate ; he came briskly 
forward, smiling as if in extreme delight, and bent over the 
artist's hand, raising it to his lips. 

"Now,,vo«'''neverdo that," said Miss Bonnicastle, addi 
Otway, with an air of mock gratification. " This is Mr. 
the best-behaved man I know. Signor, you've heard us 
of Mr. Otway, Behold \iim\" 



2 briskly 
3ver the I 

'1 iij 

r.FlodI 
ussp^ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 261 

" Ah ! Mr. Otway, Mr. Otway ! " cried the Italian joyously. 
" Permit me the pleasure to shake hands with you ! One 
more English friend ! I collect English friends, as others 
collect pictures, bric-h-brac, what you will. Indeed, it 
is my pride to add to the collection — my privilege, my 
honour." 

After exchange of urbanities, he turned to the exhibition on 
the walls, and exhausted his English in florid eulogy, not a word 
of which but sounded perfectly sincere. From this he passed 
toagloiilicationof the art of advertisement. It was the triumph 
of our century, the supreme outcome of civilisation \ Otway, 
amusedly observant, asked with a smile what progress the art 
was making in Italy. 

" Progress ! " cried Florio, with indescribable gesture. 
" Italy and prc^ess ! — Yet," he proceeded, with a change of 
voice, " where would Italy be, but for advertisements i* Italy 
lives by advertisements. She is the best advertised country in 
the world ! Suppose the writers and painters ceased to 
advertise Italy ; suppose it were no more talked about ; 
suppose foreigners ceased to come ! What would happen to 
Italy, I ask you ? " 

His face conveyed so wonderfully the suggestion of ravenous 
hunger, that Miss Bonnicastle screamed with laughter. Piers 
did not laugh, and turned away for a moment. 

Soon after, there entered Olga Hannaford. Seeing the two 
men, she reddened and looked confused, but Miss Bonnicastle's 
noisy greeting relieved her. Her hand was offered first to 
Otway, who pressed it without speaking ; their eyes met, and 
to Piers it seemed that she made an appeal for his forbearance, 
his generosity. The behaviour of the Italian was singular. 
Mute and motionle,ss, he gazed at Olga with a wonder 
which verged on consternation ; when she turned towards him, 
he made a profound bow, as though he met her for the 
first time. 

" Don't you remember me, Mr. Florio ? " she asked, in an 
uncertain voice. 

" Oh — indeed^perfectly," was the stammered reply. 

He took her fingers with the most delicate respectfulness, 
again bowing deeply; then drew back a little, his eyes 
travelling rapidly to the faces of the others, as if seeking 
an explanation. Miss Bonnicastle broke ft\e ^'iVencE, ^a-^NW^ 
they must have some tea, and caWing M^iOfv Ci\^a Va ^^■'ft 



r 



362 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 



next I 



her in preparing it. For a minute or two the men were 
left alone. Florio, approaching Piers on tiptoe, whispered 
anxiously : 

" Miss Hannaford is in mourning ? " 

" Her mother is dead." 

\Vith a gesture of desolation, the Italian moved apart, 
stood staring absently at a picture on the wall. For the next 
quarter of an hour, he took scarcely any part in the conversa- 
tion ; his utterances were grave and subdued ; repeatedly he 
glanced at Olga, and, if able to do so unobserved, let his eyes 
rest upon her with agitated interest. But for the hoste^ 
there would have been no talk at all, and even she fell 
short of her wonted vivacity. When things were at their m< 
depressing, someone knocked. 

"Who's that, I wonder?" said Miss Bonnicastle. 
r^ht ! " she called out. " Come along." 

A head appeared ; a long, pale, nervous countenance, wil 
eyes that blinked as if in too strong a light. Miss BonnicasC 
started up, clamouring an excited welcome. Olga flushed 
smiled. It was Kite who advanced into the room ; on serii 
Olga he stood still, became painfully embarrassed, and coul 
make no answer to the friendly greetings with which Mi 
Bonnicastle received him. Forced into a chair at length, 
sitting sideways, with his long legs intertwisted, and his 
fidgeting about, he made known that he had arrived only tl 
morning from Paris, and meant to stay in London for a month 
or two — perhaps longer— it depended on circumstances. His 
health seemed improved, but he talked in the old way, v^uely, 
languidly. Yes, he had had a little success ; but it amounted 
to nothing; his work- — rubbish! rubbish! Thereupoi 
caf^ sketches in the illustrated papers were shown to F 
who poured forth exuberant praise. A twinkle of pli 
1 the artist's eyes. 

" But the other things we heard about ? " said 
Bonnicastle. " The what-d'y^-c^^H 'ems, the figures " — 

Kite shrugged his shoulders, and looked uneasy. 

" Oh, pot-boilers ! Poor stuff, Happened to catch peo| 
eyes. Who told you about them?" 

"Some man — I forget. And what are you doing now? 

" Oh, nothing. A little black-and-white for that thing,' 
pointed contemptuously to the ?aper. "Keeps me 
idleness. " 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 263 

"Where are you going to liveP" 

" I don't know. I shall find a garret somewhere. Do you 
know of one about here ? " 

Olga's eyes chanced to meet a glance from Otway. She 
moved, hesitated, and rose from her chair. Kite and the 
Italian gazed at her, then cast a look at each other, then both 
^looked at Otway, who had at once risen, 
^L " Do you walk home ?" said Piers, stepping towards her. 
^^K " I'd better have a cab," 

^P It was said in a quietly decisive tone, and Piers made no 
^teply. Both took leave with few words. Olga descended the 
stairs rapidly, and, without attention to her companion, turned 
at a hurried pace down the dark street They had walked 
nearly a hundred yards when she turned her head and 
spoke. 

" Can't you suggest some way for me to earn my living? I 
mean it. I must find something." 

" Have you spoken to your uncle about it ? " asked Piers 
mechanically. 

" No i it's difficult. If I could go to him with something 
definite." 

" Have you spoken to your cousin ? " 

Olga delayed an instant, and answered with an embarrassed 

"She's gone to Paris." 

Before Piers could recover from his surprise, she had waved 
to an empty hansom driving past. 

" Think about it," she added, " and write to me. I must 
do something. This life of lonehness and idleness is unbear- 
able." 

And Piers thought ; to little purpose, for his mind was once 
more turned to Irene, and it cost him a painful effort to dwell 
upon Olga's circumstances. He postponed writing to her, until 
shame compelfed him, and the letter he at length despatched 
seemed so empty, so futile, that he could not bear to think of 
her reading it With astonishment he received an answer so 
gratefully worded that it moved his heart, She would reflect 
fin the suggestions he had madej moreover, as he advised, she 
would take counsel frankly with the Doctor; and, whatever 
was decided, he should hear at once. She counted on him as 

biend, a true friend; in truth, she had no ofttfi. ^ifCNaS, 

JBtinue to write to her, but not often, not TOo^ft \.VKtv «v.tc ■». 



364 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



fortnight or so. And let him be assured that she never for X 
moment forgot her lifelong debt to him. 

This last sentence referred, no doubt, to her mother's lettetStJ 
Dr. Derwent, it seemed, would make no acknowledgment oCl 
the service rendered him by a brother of the man whom hsi 
must regard as a pitiful scoundrel. How abhorred by hits'] 
must be the name of Otway ! 

And could it be less hateful to his daughter, to Irene? 

The days passed. A pleasant surprise broite the monotoi^ J 
of work and worry when, one afternoon, the office-boy handeSW 
in a card bearing the name Korolevitch. The Russian vaa' 
spending a week in London, and Otway saW him several 
times ; on one occasion they sat talking together till three in 
the morning. To Pieis this intercourse brought vast mental 
relief, and gave him an intellectual impulse of which he had 
serious need in his life of solitude, ever tending to despond- 
ency. Korolevitch, on leaving England, volunteered to call 
upon Moncharmont at Odessa. He had wool to sell, and why 
not sell it to his friends ? But he, as well as Piers, looked for_J 
profit of another kind from this happy acquaintance. 

It was not long before Otway made another call upon S 
Bonnicastle, and at this time, as he had hoped, he found h 
alone, working. He led their talk to the subject of Kite. 

" You ought to go and see him in his garret," said Mnl 
Bonnicastle. "He'd like you to." |_ 

"Tell me, if you know," threw out the other, looking inloi 
her broad, good-natured face. "Is he still interested ii 
Hatmaford ? " 

" Why, of course ! He's one of the stupids who keep u 
that kind of thing for a lifetime. But ' he that will not w' 
he may ' 1 Poor silly fellow ! How I should enjoy boxing ij 
ears ! " 

They laughed, but Miss Bonnicastle seemed very much I 

" He's tormenting his silly self," she went on, " because | 
has been unfaithful to her. There was a girl in Paris. 
he tells me everything ! We're good friends. The girl c 
there did him enormous good, that's all I know. It was stie 
that set him to work, and supplied him with his mode! at the 
same time I What better could have happened ? And now 
the absurd creature has qualms of conscience ! " ^M 

"^Vei}," said Piers, sroi\mft Mrveas(tj,"\'i:s\i\\^\'efa\t." ^M 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 265 

"Bosh I Don't be silly I A man has his work to do, and 
he must get what help he can. I shall pack him off back to 

"111 go and see him, I think. — About the Italian, Florio. 
Has he also an interest?" 

"In Olga? Yes, I fancy he has, but 1 don't know much 
about him. He comes and goes, on business. There's a 
chance, I think, of his dropping in for money before long. 
He isn't a bad sort — what do you think?" 

That same afternoon Piers went in search of Kite's garret. 
It was a garret literally, furnished with a table and a bed, and 
little else, but a large fire burned cheerfully, and on the table, 
beside a drawing-board, stood a bottle of wine. When he had 
welcomed his visitor, Kite pointed to the bottle. 

"I got used to it in Paris," he said, "and it helps me to 
work. I shan't offer you any, or you might be made ill ; the 
cheapest claret on the market, but it reminds me of — of 
things," 

There rose in Otway's mind a suspicion that, to-day at all 
events. Kite had found his cheap claret rather too seductive. 
His face had an unwonted warmth of colour, and his speech 
an unusual fluency. Presently he opened a portfolio and 
showed some of the work he had done in Paris : drawings in 
pen-and-ink, and the published reproductions of others ; these 
latter, he declared, were much spoilt in the process work. The 
motive was always a nude female figure, of great beauty ; the 
same face, with much variety of expression ; for background 
all manner of fantastic scenes, or rather glimpses and su^estions 
^^^ a poet's dreamland. 

^^F"Vou see what I mean?" said Kite. "It's simply Woman, 
^^H a beautiful thing, as a — a— oh, I can't get it into words. 
^^Hi ideal, you know — something to live for. Put her in a 
^^reom— it becomes a different thing. Do you feel my meaning ? 
English people wouldn't have these, you know. They don't 
understand. They call it sensuality." 

" Sensuality ! " cried Piers, after dreaming for a moment. 
" Great heavens 1 then why are human bodies made beautiful ? " 

The artist gave a strange laugh of gratification. 

"There you hit it! Why— why? The work of the Devil, 
the y say." 

•■The worst of it is," said Piers, "thattVie,y\tu^V^\«5gffi4.t. 
leauty, as an inspiiaUon, ex\5,\s ot^"j ^w ■&£■ ^K«- 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 



I 



Beauty of any and every kind — it's all the same. There's no 
safety for the world as we know it, except in utilitarian morals." 

Later, when he looked back upon these winter months, 
Piers could distinguish nothing clearly. It was a time of 
confused and obscure motives, of oscillation, of dreary conflict, 
of dull suffering. His correspondence with Olga, his meetings 
with her, had no issue. He made a thousand resolves ; a 
thousand times he lost them. But for the day's work, which 
kept him in an even tenor for a certain number of hours, he 

St have drifted far and perilously. 

[t was a life of solitude. The people with whom he talked 
were mere ghosts, intangible, not of his world. Sometimes, 
amid a crowd of human beings, he was stricken voiceless and 
motionless : he stared about him, and was bewildered, asking 
himself what it all meant. 

His health was not good ; he suffered much from headaches j 
he fell into languors, lassitude of body and souL As a result, 
imagination seemed to be dead in him. The torments of 
desire were forgotten. When he heard that Irene Derwent bad 
returned to London, the news affected him only with a sort of 
weary curiosity. Was it true that she would 
Arnold Jacks? It seemed so. He puzzled over the stoi 
wondered about it ; but only his mind was concerned, i 
his emotions. ^ 

Once he was summoned to Queen's Gate. John Jacks 
lay on a sofa, in his bedroom ; he talked as usual, but in a 
weaker voice, and had the face of a man doomed, Piers saw 
no one else in the house, and on going away felt that he had 
been under that roof for the last time. 

His mind was oppressed with the thought of death, 
happens, probably, to every imaginative man at one time o 
another, he had a conviction that his own days were drawing ' 
to a premature close. Speculation about the future seemed 
idle ; he had come to the end of hopes and fears. Night 
after night his broken sleep suffered the same dream ; he saw 
Mrs. Hannaford, who stretched her hands to liim, and with a 
face of silent woe seemed to implore his help. Help against 
Death ; and his powerlessness wrung his heart with anguish. 
Waking, he thought of all the women — beautiful, tender^ 
objects of infinite passion and worship — who even at ths' 
moment lay smitten bv tt^e S^eJ^^ acsuoiex \ ftic ^asis^ ^ 



-ackJ 
had 
e of^ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 267 

loving, racked, disfigured, flung into the horror of the grave. 
And his being rose in revolt ; he strove in silent agony against 
the dark ruling of the world. 

One day there was of tranquil self-possession, of blessed 
calm. A Sunday in January, when, he knew not how, he 
found himself amid the Sussex lanes, where he had rambled 
in the time of harvest The weather, calm and dry and mild, 
but without sunshine, soothed his spirit He walked for hours, 
and towards nightfall stood upon a wooded hill, gazing west- 
ward. An overcast, yet not a gloomy sky ; still, soft-dappled ; 
with rifts and shimmerings of pearly blue scattered among 
multitudinous billows, which here were a dusky yellow, there 
a deep neutral tint. In the low west, beneath the long dark 
edgCj a soft splendour, figured with airy cloudlets, waited for 
the invisible descending sun. Moment after moment the rifts 
grew longer, the tones grew warmer; above began to spread 
a rosy flush; in front, the glory brightened, touching the 
cloud-line above it with a tender crimson. 

If all days could be like this ! One could live so well, he 
thought, in mere enjoyment of the beauty of earth and sky, 
all else forgotten. Under this soft-dusking heaven, death was 
welcome rest, and passion only a tender sadness. 

He said to himself that he had grown old in hopeless love — 
only to doubt in the end whether he had loved at all. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

THE lad he employed in his office was run over by a 
one slippery day, and all hut killed. Piers visited 
in the hospital, thus seeing for the first time the interior 
one of those houses of pain, which he always disliked even lo 
pass. The experience did not help to brighten his mood; 
he lacked that fortunate temper of the average man, which 
embraces as a positive good the less of two evils. The long, 
grey, low -echoing ward, with its atmosphere of antiseptics; 
the rows of litde white camp-beds, an ominous screen hiding 
this and that ; the bloodless faces, the smothered groan, made 
a memory that went about wiih him for many a day. " 

. It strengthened his growing hatred of London, a hi 
^battlefield calling itself the home of civilisation and of peai 
I battlefield on which the wounds were of soul no less than 
/ body. In these gaunt streets along which he passed at night, 
( how many a sad heart suffered, by the dim glimmer that 
[ showed at upper windows, a hopeless solitude amid the 
I innumerable throng ! Human cattle, the herd that feed and 
\ breed, with them it was well ; but the few bom to a desire 
i for ever unattainable, the gentle spirits who from their prisoning 
|. / circumstance looked up and afar, how the heart ached to think 
of them I Some girl, of delicate instinct, of purpose sweet 
and pure, wasting her unloved life in toil and want and 
indignity ; some man, whose youth and courage strove against 
a mean environment, whose eyes grew haggard in the vain 
search for a companion promised in his dreams ; they lived, 
these two, parted perchance only by the wall of neiglibour 
houses, yet all huge London was between them, and their 
hands would never touch. Beside this hunger for love, what 
was the stomach-famine of a multitude that knew no other? 

The spring drew nigh, and Otway dreaded its coming. It 
was the time of his burning torment, of imagination traitor to 
the iFortfiier mind ; it was l\\e time d wvetve. ■&■«. t^j^t biii 



ad^^ 

i^^l 
ic3H 
1 o^" 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 269 

above everything ignoble, only to erabitter by conlrasl the 
destiny he could not break. He rose now with the early sun j 
walked fast and far before the beginning of his day's work, 
with an aim he knew to be foolish, yet could not abandon. 
From Guilford Street, along the byways, he crossed Tottenham 
Court Road, just rattling with its first traffic, crossed Portland 
Place, still in its soundest sleep, and so onward till he touched 
Bryanston Square. The trees were misty with half-unfolded 
leafage; birds twittered cheerily among the branches; but 
Piers heeded not these things. He stood before the high 
narrow-fronted house, which once he had entered as a guest, 
where never ^ain would he be suffered to pass the door. 
Irene was here, he supposed, but could not be sure, for on 
the rare occasions when he saw Olga Hannaford they did not 
speak of her cousin. Of the course her life had taken, he 
knew nothing whatever. Here, in the chill bright morning, 
he felt more a stranger to Irene than on the day, six years ago, 
when with foolish timidity he ventured his useless call. She 
was merely indifferent to him then ; now she shrank from the 
sound of his name. 

On such a morning, a few weeks later, he pursued his walk 
in the direction of Kensington, and passed along Queen's 
Gate. It was between seven and eight o'clock. Nearing 
John Jacks' house, he saw a carriage at the door ; it could of 
course be only the doctor's, and he became sad in thinking 
of his kind old friend, for whom the last days of hfe were 
made so hard. Just as he was passing, the door opened, and 
a man, evidently a doctor, came quickly forth. With move- 
ment as if he were here for this purpose, Otway ran up the 
steps; the servant saw him, and waited with the door still 
open. 

" Will you tell me how Mr. Jacks is ? " he asked. 

"I am sorry to say, sir," was the subdued answer, "that 
Mr, Jacks died at three this morning." 

Piers turned away. His eyes dazzled in the sunshine. 

The evening papers had the news, with a short memoir — 
half of which was concerned not with John Jacks, but with his 
son Arnold. 

It seemed to him just possible that he might receive an 
invitation to attend the funeral ; but nothing of the kind came 
to him. The slight, he took it for granted, was not social, 
but personal. His name, of course, wax oRenyiNtt \q MwJA 



¥ 



rjo THE CROWN OF LIFE 

Jacks, and probably to Mrs. John Jacks; only the genial t 
man had disregarded the scandal shadowing the Otway nam' 

On the morrow, it was made known that the dcceasej.^ 
Member of Parliament would be buried in Yorkshire, in thw 
village churchyard which was on his own estate. And Otway 
felt glad of this ; the sombre and crowded hideousness of a 
London cemetery was no place of rest for John Jacks, 

A fortnight later, at eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, 
Piers mounted with quick stride the stairs leading to 1 " 
Bonnicastie's abode. The door of her workroom stood ajar 
his knock brought no response ; after hesitating a little, 
pushed the door open, and went in. 

Accustomed to the grotesques and vulgarities whid 
generally met his eye upon these walls, he was startled ti 
behold a life-size figure of great beauty, suggesting a stud 
for a serious work of art rather than a design for a. stre 
poster. It was a woman, in classic drapery, standing upc 
the seashore, her head thrown back, her magnificent hat 
flowing unrestrained, and one of her bare arms raised in 
gesture of exultation. As he gazed at the drawing i "" 
delight. Miss Bonnicastle appeared from the inner roon 
dressed for walking. 

" What do you think of l/iai? " she exclaimed. 

" Better than anything you ever did ! " 

"True enough! That's Kite. Don't you recognise 1 
type ? " 

" One thinks of Ariadne," said Piers, " but the face won 
do for her." 

" Yes, it's Ariadne — but I doubt if I shall have the brutalit 
to finish out my idea. She is to have lying on the sand I 
her a case of Higginson's Hair-wash, stranded from a wrec_^^ 
and a bottle of it in her hand. See the notion ? Her despa! 
consoled by discovery of Higginson ! " 

They laughed, but Piers broke off in half-serious anger. 

"Thafs damnable! You won't do it. For one thing, th 
mob wouldn't understand. And in heaven's name do spa 
the old stories 1 I'm amazed that Kite should i 
to it." 

" Poor old fellow ! " said Miss Bonnicastle, with an indulgen 
smile, " he'll do anything a woman asks of him. But 1 shari 
have the heart to spoil it with Higginson ; 1 know I shan't" 

"After all," Piers replied, " I don't know why you shouldnl 



I 



I THE CROWN OF LIFE 271 

-What's the use of our scruples ? That's the doom of every- 
thing beautiful." 

"We'll talk about it another time. 1 can't stop now. I 
have an appointment. Stay here if you like, and worship 
Ariadne. 1 shouldn't wonder if Olga looks round this 
morning, and it'll disappoint her if there's nobody here." 

Piers was embarrassed. He had asked Olga to meet him, 
and wondered whether Miss Bonnicastle knew of it. But she 
spared him the necessity of any remark by speeding away at 
once, bidding him slam the door on the latch when he 
departed. 

In less than ten minutes, there sounded a knock without, 
and Piers threw the door open. It was Olga, breathing 
rapidly after her ascent of the stairs, and a startled look in her 
eyes as she found herself face to face with Otway, He 
explained his being here alone. 

" It is kind of you to have come ! " 

"Oh, I have enjoyed the walk. A delicious morning 1 
And how happy one feels when the church bells suddenly 
stop ! " 

" I have often known that feeling," said Piers merrily. 
" Isn't it wonderful, how London manages to make things 
detestable which are pleasant in other places ! The bells in 
the country! — But sit down. You look tired" — 

She seated herself, and her eyes turned lo the beautiful 
figure on the wall, Piers watched her countenance. 
"You have seen it abeady?" he said. 
A few days ago." 
You know who did it?" 

Mr. Kite, I am told," she answered absently. "And," 
she added, after a pause, " I think he disgraced himself by 
lending his art to such a purpose," 

Piers said nothing, and looked away to hide his smile of 
pleasme. 

" I asked you to come," were his next words, " to show you 
a letter I have had from John Jacks' solicitors." 

Glancing at him with surprise, Olga took the letter he held 
out, ajid read it. In this communication, Piers Otway was 
informed that the will of the late Mr. Jacks bequeathed to 
him the capital which the testator had invested in the firm of 
Monchajmont & Co., and the share in the business which it 
■esented. 



»7a THE CROWN OF LIFE 

"This is important to you," said the girl, after reflecting fo 
a ntoment, her eyes down. 

"Yes, it is important," Piers answered, in a voice not quit 
under control "It means that, if I choose, 1 can I' 
without working at the business. Just Hve ; no more, i 
present, though it may mean more in the future. Thiiij 
have gone well with us, for a beginning ; much better than 
at all events, expected. What I should !ike to do, now, woul 
be to 6nd a man to take my place in London, I know soira 
one who, just possibly, might be willing — a man at Liverptxrf 

" Isn't it a risk ? " said Olga, regarding him with sham 
faced anxiety. 

"I don't think so. If/ could do so well, almost any n 
man of business would be sure to do better. Moncharmoa 
you know, is the indispensable member of the firm." 

" And^whai would you do ? Go abroad, I suppose ? " 

"For a time, at all events. Possibly to Russia — I have 
purpose — too vague to speak of yet— I should frighten myst 
if I spoke of it. But it all depends upon " — He broke a 
unable to command his voice. A moment's silence, durii 
which he stared at the woman on the wall, and he could spe 
again. "I can't go a.lone. I can't do — can't think of 
anything seriously, whilst I am maddened by solitude I " 

Olga sat with her head bent. He drew nearer to her. 

" It depends upon you. I want you for my companioo- 
for my wife " — 

She looked him in the face — a strange, agitated, half-defii 
look. 

" I don't think that is true ! You don't want me " — 

" You ! Yes, you, Olga ! And only you ! " 

" I don't believe it. You mean — any woman." Her voi< 
all but choked. "If that one" — she pointed to the wa" 
" could step towards you, you would as soon have her. ' 
would ralhir, because she is more beautiful." 

" Not in my eyes ! " He seized her hand, and said, 
laughing, shaken with the moment's fever, " Come and st 
beside her, and let me see how the real living woman mak 
pale the ideal ! " 

Flushing, trembling at his touch, she rose. Her lips parte 
she had all but spoken ; when there came a loud knock at t 
door of the room. Tbeir hands fell, and they gazed at e 
other in perturbation. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 273 

" Silence ! " whispered Otway. " No reply ! " 

He stepped softly to the door ; silently he turned the key 
in the lock. No sooner had he done so, than someone with- 
out tried the handle ; the door was shaken a little, and there 
sounded another knock, loud, peremptory. Piers moved to 
Olga's side, smiled at her reassuringly, tried to take her hand ; 
but, with a frightened glance towards the door, she shrank 
away. 

Two minutes of dead silence ; then Otway spoke just above 
his breath. 

" Gone ! Didn't you hear the footstep on the stairs ? " 

Had she just escaped some serious peril, Olga could not 
have worn a more agitated look. Her hand resisted Otway's 
approach ; she would not seat herself, but moved nervously 
hither and thither, her eyes constantly turning to the door. 
It was in vain that Piers laughed at the incident, asking what 
it could possibly matter to them that some person had wished 
to see Miss Bonnicastle, and had gone away thinking no one 
was within ; Olga made a show of assenting, she smiled and 
pretended to recover herself, but was still tremulous and 
unable to converse. 

He took her hands, held them firmly, compelled her to 
meet his look. 

" Let us have an end of this, Olga ! Your life is unhappy — 
let me help you to forget. And help mt ! I want your love. 
Come to me — we can help each other — put an end to this 
accursed loneliness, this longing and raging that eats one's 
heart away ! " 

She suffered him to hold her close^her head bent back, 
the eyes half veiled by iheir lids. 

" Give me one day — to think " — 

" Not one hour, not one minute 1 Now ! " 

"Because you are stronger than 1 am, that doesn't make 
roe really yours." She spoke in stress of spirit, her eyes wide 
and fearful. "If I said 'yes,' I might break my promise. I 
warn you I 1 can't trust myself — I warn you not to trust me ! " 

"I will take the risk!" 

" I have warned you. — Yes, yes 1 I will try !— Let me go 
now, and stay here till I have gone. I must go now ! " She 
shook with hysterical passion. " Else I take back m\ 
promise ! — I will see you in two da^s ■, noX Viexe -, \ ■«% -iftNstt 
of somepJaca" 



474 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



rted at - 
streelj 



r 

^^1 She drew towards the exit, and when her one band was o 

^H the key, Piers, with sudden self-subdual, spoke. 
^^H " You have promised ! " 

^^M " Yes, I wilt write very soon." 

^^M ■ With a look of gratitude, a smile all but of tenderness, ! 
^^P passed from his sight. 

^H^ On the pavement, she looked this way and Chat. Fiftf I 

I yards away, on the other side of the street, a well-dressed man 

stood supporting himself on his umbrella, as if he bad been 
long waiting ; though to her shortness of sight the figure w 
featureless, Olga trembled as she perceived it, and started at i 
a rapid walk towards the cab-stand at the top of the s 
Instantly, the man made after her, almost running. He caug 
her up before she could approach the vehicles. 

" So you were there ! Something told me you were there !' 
"What do you mean, Mr. Florio?" 

The man was raging with jealous anger ; trying to smile, be 
showed his teeth in a mere grin, and sputtered bis words. 
" The door was shut with the key I Why was that ? " 
"You mustn't speak to me in this way," said Olga, with 
troubled remonstrance rather than indignation. " When I 
visit my friend, we don't always care to be disturbed " — 

"Ha! Your friend— Miss Bonnicastle — was ftoi there! 
1 have seen her in Oxford Street! She has said no one 
was there this morning, but I doubted — I came ! " 

Whilst speaking, he kept a look turned in the direction of 
the bouse from which Olga had come. And of a sudden his 
eyes lit with fierce emotion. 

" See ! Something told me I T/ta/ is your friend ! " 
Piers Otway had come out. Olga could not have recognised 
him at this distance, but she knew the Italian's eyes would not 
be deceived. Instantly she took to flight, along a cross-street 
leading eastward. Florio kept at her side, and neither spoke 
until breathlessness stopped her as she entered Fitiroy 
Square. 

"You are safe," said her pursuer, or companion, 
gone the other way. — Ah ! you are pale 1 You are sufferlqi 
Why did you run — run — run ? There was no need." 

His voice had turned soothing, caressing ; his eyes t 
in compassion as they bent upon her. 
" I have given you no right to hunt me like this," said OlffCn 
panting, timid, he: \ooV ta.\sc4 ^o\ a.-mdmwx'wi'ws,. 






THE CROWN OF LIFE 275 

" I take the right," he laughed musically. " It is the right 
of the man who loves you," 

She cast a frightened glance about the square, which was 
almost deserted, and began to walk slowly on. 

"Why was the door shut with the key ? " asked Florio, his 
head near to hers. " I thought I would break it Often ! And 
I wish I had done so," he added, suddenly fierce again. 

" I have given you no right," stammered Olga, who seemed 

suffer under a sort of fascination, which dulled her mind. 

" I take it !— Has /« a right ? Tell me that ! You are 
not good to me ; you are not honest to me ; you deceive — 
deceive! Why was the door shut with the key? I am 
astonished ! I did not think this was done in England — a 
lady — a young lady ! " 

" Oh, what do you mean ? " Olga exclaimed, with a face of 
misery. "There was no harm. It wasn't /who wished it to 
be locked ! " 

Florio gazed at her long and searchingly, till the blood 
burned in her face. 

" Enough ! " he said with decision, waving his arm. " I 
have learnt something. One always learns something new 
in England. The English are wonderful — yes, they are 
wonderful. Basla ! and addiol" 

He raised his hat, turned, moved away. As if drawn 
irresistibly, Olga followed. Head down, arms hanging in the 
limpness of shame, she followed, but without drawing nearer. 
At the corner of the square, Florio, as if accidentally, turned 
his head ; in an instant, he stood before her. 

"Then you do not wish good-bye?" 

" You are very cruel ! How can I let you think such 
things ? You know it's false ! " 

" But there must be explanation ! " 

" I can easily explain. But not here — one can't talk in the 
street " — 

" Naturally !— Listen ! It is twelve o'clock. You go home ; 
you eat; you repose. At three o'clock, I pay you a visit 
Why not? You said it yourself the other day, but I could 
not decide. Now I have decided. I pay you a visit ; you 
receive me privately — can you not? We talk, and all is 
settled ! " 

Olga thought for a moment, and assented. K fe-* -mMwissi 
afterwards, she was rolling in a cab towards ^avjansSaw "Si^siiaxa. 



276 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

On Monday evening, Piers received a note from Olga, It 
ran thus : 

" I warned you not to trust me. It is all over now ; I have, 
in your own words, * put an end to it.' We could have given 
no happiness to each other. Miss Bonnicastle will explain. 
Good-bye ! " 

He went at once to Great Portland Street. Miss 
Bonnicastle knew nothing, but looked anxious when she 
had seen the note and heard its explanation. 

" We must wait till the morning," she said. " Don't worry. 
It's just what one might have expected." 

Don't worry ! Piers had no wink of sleep that night. At 
post-time in the morning, he was at Miss Bonnicastle's, but 
no news arrived. He went to business; the day passed 
without news; he returned to Great Portland Street, and 
there waited for the last postal delivery. It brought the 
expected letter; Olga announced her marriage that morning 
to Mr. Florio. 

" It's better than I feared," said Miss Bonnicastle. " Now 
go home to bed, and sleep like a philosopher." 

Good advice, but not of much profit to one racked and 
distraught with amorous frenzy, with disappointment sharp 
as death. Through the warm spring night. Piers raved and 
agonised. The business hour found him lying upon his bed, 
sunk in dreamless sleep. 




AGAIN it was springtime — the spring of 1894. Two years 
had gone by since that April night when Piers Otway 
suffered things unspealiable in flesh and spirit, thinking that 
for him the heavens had no more radiance, Ufe no morrow. 
The memory was faint ; he found it hard to imagine that the 
loss of a woman he did not love could so have afflicted him. 
Olga Hannaford — Mrs. Florlo — was matter for a smile; he 
hoped that he might some day meet her again, and take her 
hand with the old friendliness, and wish her well. 

He had spent the winter in St. Petersburg, and was making 
arrangemenis for a visit to England, when one morning there 
came to him a letter which made his eyes sparkle and his heart 
beat high with joy. In the afternoon, having given more than 
wonted care to his dress, he set forth from the lodgmg he 
occupied at the lower end of (he Nevski Prospect, and walked 
to the Hotel de France, near the Winter Palace, where he 
inquired for Mrs. BorJsoff. After a little delay, he was con- 
ducted to a private sitting-room, where again he waited. On 
a table lay two periodicals, at which he glanced, recognising 
with a smile recent numbers of the Nineteenth Century and 
the Vytslnik Evropy. 

There entered a lady with a bright English face, a lady in 
the years between youth and middle age, frank, gracious, her 
look of interest speaking a compliment which Otway found 
more than agreeable. 

" I have kept you waiting," she said, in a tone that dispensed 
with formalities, " because I was on the point of going out 
when they brought your card" — 

"Oh, I am sorry" — 

"But I am not. Instead of twaddle and boredom round 
somebody or other's samovar, I am going to have honest talk 
under the chaperonage of an English teapot — my own teapot, 
which I carry everywhere, But don't be a^taii-, \ ^w&. w*- 



r 



I 
I 



278 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

give you English tea. What a shame that I have been t 
for two months without our meeting ! I have talked abou 
you — wanted to know you. Look t " 

She pointed to the ; periodicals which Piers had alread 
noticed. 

" No," she went on, checking him as he was about to b 
down, " /Aai is your chair. If you sat on the other, you woul 
be polite and grave and — like everybody else ; I know ih 
influence of chairs. That is the chair my husband select 
when he wishes to make me understand some point ( 
etiquette. Miss Derwent warned you, no doubt, of my short 
comings in etiquette?" 

"AU she said to me," replied Piers, laughing, "wai 
you are very much her friend." 

"Well, that is true, I hope.— Tell me, please; is the artid 
in the Vyestnik your own Russian ? " 

" Not entirely. I have a friend named Korolevitch, wl 
went through it for me." 

" Korolevitch ? I seem to know that name. Is he, I 
chance, connected with some religious movement, aoni 
heresy ? " 

" 1 was going to say I am sorry he is ; yet I can't be son 
for what honours the man. He has joined the Du khob ortsi 
has sold his large estate, and is devoting all the money to the 
cause. I'm afraid he'll go to some new-world colony, and 
shall see little of him henceforth, A great loss to me." 

Mrs. Borisoif kept her eyes upon him as he spoke, sei 
to reflect rather than to listen. 

" I ought to tell you," she said, " that I don't know Russian 
Irene — Miss Derwent almost shamed me into working at it 
but I am so lazy — ah, so lazy ! You are aware, of course thi 
Miss Derwent has learnt itP" 

" Has learnt Russian ? " exclaimed Piers. " I didn't knot 
— I had no idea" — 

"Wonderful girl ! I suppose she thinks it a trifle." 

"It's so long," said Otway, "since I had any news of Mil 
Derwent. I can hardly consider myself one of her friends,- 
at least, 1 shouldn't have ventured to do so until this momirq 
when I was surprised and delighted to have a letter from h 
about that Aine(eenlh Century article, sent through tl 
publishers. She spoke of you, and asked me to call — sayii 
she had written an introducl\oiv o^ me bv ihe same post." 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 279 

ff smiled oddty. 
("Oh yes; it came. She didn't speak of the VyestnikJ" 

" No." 

" Vet she has read it — I happen to know, I'm sony I can't. 
Tel! me about it, will you ? " 

The Russian article was called " New Womanhood in 
England." It began with a good-tempered notice of certain 
novels then popular, and passed on to speculations regarding 
the new ideals of life set before English women. Piers spoke 
of it as a mere bit of apprentice work, meant rather to amuse 
than as a serious essay. 

"At all events, it's a success," said his listener. "One 
hears of it in every drawing-room. Wonderfid thing — you 
don't sneer at women. I'm told you are almost on our side — 
if not quite. I've lieard a passage read into French — the 
woman of the twentieth century. I rather liked it." 

" Not altogether ? " said Otway, with humorous diffidence, 

" Oh ! A woman never quite likes an ideal of womanhood 
which doesn't quite fit her notion of herself, — But let us speak 
of the other thing, in the Nineteenth Century — ' The Pilgrim- 
age to Kief.' For life, colour, sympathy, I think it altogether 
wonderful, I have heard Russians say that they couldn't 
have believed a foreigner had written it." 

"Thai's the best praise of all." 

"You mean to go on with this kind of thing? You might 
become a sort of interpreter of the two nations to each other. 
An original idea. The everyday thing is to exasperate Briton 
against Russ, and Russ against Briton, with every sort of cheap 
joke and stale falsehood. All the same, Mr. Otway, I'm bound 
to confess lo you that I don't like Russia." 

"No more do I," returned Piers, in an undertone, "But 
that only means, I don't like the worst features of the Middle 
Ages. The Russian-speaking cosmopolitan whom you and I 
know isn't Russia ; he belongs to the Western Europe of to- 
day, his country represents Western Europe of some centuries 
ago. Not strictly that, of course ; we must allow for race ; 
but it's how one has to think of Russia," 

Again Mrs. Borisoff scrutinised him as he spoke, averting 
her eyes at length with an absent smile. 

"Here comes my tutelary teapot," she said, as a pretty 

maid-servant entered with a tray. "A phrase I got from Irene, 

"'y the bye — from Miss Derwent, who laughs at my catrifitxt 



r 

I 



280 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

the thing about in my luggage. She has clever little phrase* 
of that sort, as you know." 

" Yes," fell from Piers, dreamily. " But it's so long since I- 
heard her talk." 

When he had received his cup of tea, and sipped from it, h^ 
asked with a serious look ; 

"Will you tell me about her?" 

"Of course I will. But you must first tell me abont 
yourself. You were in business in London, I believe ? " 

" For about a year. Then I found myself with enou^ 
to Uve upon, and came back to Russia. I had lived at 
Odessa " — 

" You may presuppose a knowledge of what came before,* 
interrupted Mrs. Borisoff, with a friendly nod. 

"I lived for several months with Korolevitch, on hii 
estate near Poltava. We used to talk — heavens ! how w€ 
talked ! Sometimes eight hours at a stretch. I learnt a 
great deal. Then I wandered up and down Russia, still 
learning." 

"Writing, loo?" 

"The time hadn't come for writing. Korolevitch gav( 
me no end of useful introductions. I've had great luck ( 
my travels." 

"Pray, when did you make your studies of Engltd 
women ? " 

Piers tried to laugh ; declared he did not know. ^^ 

"I shouldn't wonder if you generalise from one or two?' 
said his hostess, letting her eyelids droop as she observet 
him lazily. " Do you know Russian women as well f " 

By begging for another cup of tea, and adding a remail 
on some other subject. Piers evaded this question. 

"And what are you going to do?" asked Mrs, Borisoff. 
" Stay here, and write more articles?" 

" I'm going to England in a few days, for the summer." 

" That's what I think I shall do. But I don't know whj 
part to go to. Advise me, can you ? Seaside — no ; I don' 
like the seaside. Do you notice how people — our kind a 
people, I mean — ^are losing their taste for it in England' 
It's partly, I suppose, because of the excursion train. Om 
doesn't grudge the crowd its excursion train, but it's si 
much nicer to imagine their blessedness than to see it. — O 
are you for the other point of view?" 



^B THE CROWN OF LIFE 281 

'Otway gave an expressive look, 

"That's right. Oh, the sham philanthropic talk that goes 
on in England! How it relieves one to say flatly that one 
does not love the multitude ! — No seaside, then. Lakes- 
no ; Wales — no ; Highlands — no. Isn't there some part of 
England one would like if one discovered it ? " 

"Do you want solitude?" asked Piers, becoming more 
interested. 

"Solitude? H'm.!" She handed a box of cigarettes, and 
herself took one. "Yes, solitude. I shall try tg get Miss 
Derwent to come for a time. New Forest — no. Please, 
please, do suggest ! I'm nervous ; your silence teases me." 

"Do you know the Yorkshire dales?" asked Otway, 
watching her as she watched a nice little ring of white 
smoke from the end of her cigarette. 

" No ! That's an idea. It's your own country, isn't it ? " 

" But — how do you know that?" 

" Dreamt it." 

"I wasn't born there, but lived there as a child, and later 
a little. You might do worse than the dales, if you like that 
kind of country, Wensleydale, for instance. There's an 
old Castle, and a very interesting one, part of it habitable, 
where you can get quarters." 

" A Castle ? Superb ! " 

"Where Queen Mary was imprisoned for a time, till she 
made an escape " — 

" Magnificent 1 Can I have the whole Castle to myself? " 

"The furnished part of it, unless someone else has got 
it already for this summer. There's a family, the caretakers, 
always in possession — if things are still as they used to be." 

"Write for me at once, will you? Write immediately! 
There is paper on the desk," 

Piers obeyed. Whilst he sat penning the letter, Mrs. 
BorisofT lighted a second cigarette, her face touched with a 
roguish smile. She studied Otway's profile for a moment ; be- 
came grave ; fell into a mood of abstraction, which shadowed 
her features with weariness and melancholy. Turning suddenly 
to put a question. Piers saw the change in her look, and 
was so surprised that he forgot what he was going lo say. 

" Finished ? " she asked, moving nervously in her chair. 

When the letter was written, Mrs. Borisoff resumed talk in 
the same tone as before. 



r 



aSz 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



" You have heard of Dr, Derwent's discoveries about 
diphtheria? — That's the kind of thing one envies, don't 
you think? After all, what can we poor creatures do in 
this world, but try to ease each other's pain? The man 
who succeeds in tAat is the man I honour." 

" I too," said Piers. " But he is lost sight of, nowadays, 
n who invents a new gun or a new 



in comparison with the 
bullet." 

"Yes — the beasts! 
laugh. " What a world 



exclaimed Mrs. Borisoff, with a 
I'm always glad I have no children, 
— But you wanted lo speak, not about Dr, Derwent, but Dr, 
Derwent's daughter." 

Piers bent forward, resting his chin on his hand. 

"Tell me about her — will you?" 

"There's not much lo tell. You knew about the broken-off 
marriage ? " 

" I knew it was broken off." 

"\Vhy, that's all anyone knows, except the two persons 
concerned. It isn't our business. The world talks far too 
much about such things — don't you think? When we arc 
civiUsed, there'll be no such thing as public weddings, and 
talk about anyone's domestic concerns will be the grosses; 
impertinence. — That's an o6i/er didum. I was going to say 
that Irene lives with her father down in Kent. They left 
Bryanston Square half a year after the affair. They wander 
about the Continent together, now and then. I like thai 
chumming of father and daughter ; it speaks well for both." 

" When did you see her last ? " 

"About Christmas. We went to a concert together 
That's one of the things Irene is going in for — musii 
When I first knew her, she didn't seem to care much abou; 
it, though she played fairly well." 

" I never heard her play," fell from Piers, in an undertone. 

" No ; she only did to please her father now and then. 
It's a mental and moral advance, her new love of mu^c. 
I notice that she talks much less about science, much more 
about the things one really likes — 1 speak for myself. 
Well, it's just possible I have had a little influence there. 
I confess my inability to chat about either physic or physics, 
It's weak, of course, but I have no place in yout new world 
of women." 

" You mistake, I think," said Piers, " That ideal has 



^^ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 283 

nothing to do with any particular study. It supposes 
intelligence, that's all." 

"So much the better. You must write about it in 
English; then we'll debate. By the bye, if I go to your 
Castle, you must come down to show me the country." 

" I should like to." 

" Oh, that's part of the plan. If we don't get the Castle, 
you must find some other place for me. I leave it in your 
hands — with an apology for my impudence." 

After a pause, during which each of them mused smiling, 
they began to talk of their departure for England. Otway 
would go direct, in a few days' time ; Mrs, Borisoff had to 
travel a long way round, first of all accompanying her husband 
to the Crimea, on a visit to relatives. She mentioned her 
London hotel, and an approximate date when she might be 
heard of there. 

" Get the Castle if you possibly can," were her words as they 
parted. " I have set my heart on the Castle." 

" So have I," said Piers, avoiding her look. 

And Mrs. Borisoff laughed. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

ONCE in the two years' interval he had paid a short visit to 
En^and. He came aa disagreeable business — to see 
his brother Daniel, who had fallen into the hands of the police 
on an infamous diaige, and only by the exertions of clever 
counsel (feed by Piers) received the benefit of a doubt and 
escaped punishment Daniel had already written him several 
b^^ng ktters, and, when detected in what looked like crime, 
declared that poverty and ill-health were his excuse. He was 
a broken man. Surmising his hidden life, Piers wondered at l 
the pass a man can be brought to, in our society, by his j 
primitive instincts; instincts which may lead, when they are' 
impetuous, either to grimiest d^radation or loftiest attainment f 
To save him, if pK>ssible, from the worst extremities, Piers! 
granted him a certain small income, to be paid weekly, and 
therewith bade him final adieu. 

The firm of Moncharmont & Co. grew in moderate pro- 
sperity. Its London representative was a far better man, from 
the commercial point of view, than Piers Otway, and on 
visiting the new offices — which he did very soon after reaching 
London, in the spring of 1894 — Piers marvelled how the 
enterprise had escaped shipwreck during those twelve months 
which were so black in his memory with storm and stress. 
The worst twelvemonth of his life ! — with the possible 
exception of that which he spent part at Ewell, part at 
Odessa. 

Since, he had sailed in no smooth water; had seen no 
haven. But at least he sailed onward, which gave him courage. 
Was courage to be now illumined with hope? He tried to 
keep that thought away from him; he durst not foster it 
Among the papers he brought with him to England was a 
letter, which, having laid it aside, he never dared to open 
again. He knew it by heart — unfortunately for his peace. 

He returned to another London than that he had known, 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 285 

a London which smiled welcome. It was his duty, no less 
than his pleasure, to call upon certain people for whom he 
had letters of introduction from friends in Russia, and their 
doors opened wide to him. Upon formalities followed kind- 
ness ; the season was beginning, and at his modest lodgings 
arrived cards, notes, bidding to ceremonies greater and less ; 
one or two of these summonses bore names which might have 
stirred envy in the sons of fashion. 

Solus feci/ He allowed himself a little pride. His doing, 
it was true, had as yet been nothing much to the eye of the 
world ; but he had made friends under circumstances not very 
favourable, friends among the intelligent and the powerful. 
That gift, it seemed, was his, if no other — the ability to raalte 
himself liked, respected. He, by law the son of nobody, had 
begun to approve himself true son of the father he loved and 
honoured. 

His habits were vigorous. Rising very early, he walked 
across the Park, and had a swim in the Serpentine. The 
hours of the solid day he spent, for the most part, in study at 
the British Museum. Then, if he bad no engagement, he 
generally got by train well out of town, and walked in sweet 
air until nightfall ; or, if weather were bad, he granted himself 
the luxury of horse-hire, and rode — rode, teeth set against 
wind and rain. This earned him sleep— his daily prayer to 
the gods. 

At the date appointed, he went in search of Mrs, Borisoff, 
who welcomed him cordially. Her first inquiry was whether 
he had got the Castle. 

" I have got it," Piers replied, and entered into particulars. 
They talked about it like children anticipating a holiday. 
Mrs. Borisoff then questioned him about his doings since he 
had been in England, On his mentioning a certain great 
lady, a Russian, with whom he was to dine, next week, his 
friend replied with a laugh, which she refused to explain. 

" When can you spend an evening here ? I don't mean a 
dinner. I'il give you something to eat, but it doesn't count ; 

a come to talk, as I know you can, though you didn't let 

ifcsuspect it at Petersbut^. I sliall have one or two others, 

■chums, not respectable people. Name your own day." 

^hen the evening came, Piers entered Mrs. BorisolTs 
g-room with trepidation. He glanced at the guest who 

t alread/ ami-ed— a lady unltnown Iq Vatq. N^Vcc^ «^\\ 



I 



286 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

the door opened, he looked, trembling. His fearful hope 
ended only in a headache, but he talked, as was expected of 
him, and the hostess smiled approval. 

"These friends of yours," he said aside to her, before 
leaving, "are nice people to know. But" — 

And he broke off, meeting her eyes, 

"I don't understand," said his hostess, nith a perplexed 
look. 

"Then I daren't try to make you." 

A few days afler, at the great house of the great Russian 
lady, he ascended the st.iirs without a tremor, glanced loundi 
the room with indifference. No one would be there whom 
he could not face calmly. Brilliant women awed him a litttfl 
at first, but it was not till afterwards, in the broken night 
following such occasions as this, that they had power over hi* 
im^ination ; then he saw them, drawn upon darkness, thei 
beauty without that halo of worldly grandeur which would nol 
allow him to fo:get the gulf between them. The hostess herself 
shone by quality of intellect rather than by charm of featureji 
she greeted him with subtlest flattery, a word or tn-o of simpl4 
friendliness in her own language, and was presenting him ttf 
her husband, when, from the doorway, sounded a name whid 
made Otway's heart leap, and left him tongue-tied. 

" Mrs. Borisoff and Miss Derwent." 

He turned, but with eyes downcast : for a moment he dure 
not raise them, He moved, Insensibly, a few steps backward^ 
shadowed himself behind two men who were conversing togethei; 
And at length he looked. 

With thrill of marvelling and rapture, with chill of self 
abasement. When, years ago, he saw Irene in the dress 
ceremony, she seemed to him peerlessly radiant ; but it wa 
the beauty and the dignity of one still girlish. What he noi 
beheld was the exquisite fulfilment of that bright promise. I' 
had not erred in worship ; she who had ever been to him t 
light of life, the beacon of his passionate soul, shone befon 
him supreme among women. What head so noble in '-^ 
unconscious royalty ! What form so faultless in its mould a 
bearing ! He heard her speak — the graceful nothings ( 
introduction and recognition ; it was Irene's voice toned to ■ 
fuller music Then her face dazzled, grew distant ; he turn " 
away to command himself. 

Mrs. Borisoff spoV.ebes\de Vim. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



287. 



" Have you no good-evening for me?" 

*'So this was what you meant?" 

" You have a way of speaking in riddles." 

f' And you — a way of acting divinely. Tell me," his voice 
Ik, and his words were hurried, " May I go up to her as 
f acquaintance would? May I presume that she knows 



But — why not? I don't 
Of course — she 



PYou mean Miss Derwent? 

Herstand you." 

PNo — I forget — it seems to you ahsurd. 

Bte and introduced me to you " — 

7* You are amusing — which is more than can be said of 

ihe bent her head, and turned to speak with someone else. 

Frith what courage he knew not, stepped across the 

ret to where Miss Derwent was sitting. She saw his 

broach, and held her hand to him as if they had met only 

e other day. That her complexion was a little warmer than 

, Piers had no power of perceiving ; he saw only her 

eyes, soft-shining as they rose to his, in their deplhs an infinite 

" How glad I am that you got my letter just before leaving 
Petersburg ! " 

" How kind of you to introduce me to Mrs. Borisoff 1 " 

" I thought you would soon be friends." 

It was all they could say. At this moment, the host 
murmured his request that Otway would lake down Mrs. 
Borisoff; the hostess led up someone to be introduced to 
Miss Derwent. Then the procession began. 

Piers was both disappointed and relieved. To have felt 
ihe touch upon his arm of Irene's hand would have been a 
delight unutterable, yet to desire it was presumption. He 
was not worthy of that companionship ; it would have been 
unjust to Irene to oblige her to sit by him through the dinner, 
with the inevitable thoughts rising in her mind. Better to see 
her from a distance — though it was hard when she smiled at the 
distinguished and clever-looking man who talked, talked. It 
cost him, at first, no small effort to pay becoming attention to 
Mrs. Borisoff; the lady on his other hand, a brilliant beauty, 
moved him to a feeling almost hostile — he knew not why. 
e dinner progressed, as the kindly vintage ci-wtei vn 
I, he felt the stirrings of a dee^ '■jo'^. "^i '^is. ««■» 



w 



288 THE CROWN OF LTFE 

effort he had won reception into Irene's world. It was some- 
thing ; !t was much — remembering al! that had gone before. 

He spolce softly to his partner. 

"I am going to drink a silent health — that of my frien 
Korolevitch. To him I owe everything." 

" I don't believe f^a/, but 1 will drink it too — I n 
of him to Miss Derwent She wants to know all about ti 
Dukhobortsi. Instruct her, afterwards, if you get a Chan 
Do you think her altered ? " 

" No — yes ! " 

" By the bye, how long is it really since you first knew hern 

" Eight years— ^just eight years." 

"You speak as if it were eighty." 

"Why, so it seems, when I look back. I was a boy, a 
had the strangest notions of the world." 

"You shall tell me all about that some day," said 1 
BorisofF, glancing at him. " At the Castle, perhaps "- 

" Oh yes ! At the Castle 1 " _ 

When the company divided, and Piers had watched Irene 
pass out of sigb^ he sat down with a tired indifference. 
But his host drew him into conversation on Russian subjects, 
and, as had happened before now in gatherings of this kind, 
Otway presently found himself amid attentive listeners, whilst 
he talked of things that interested him, At such moments 
he had an irreflective courage, which prompted him to uttet 
what he thought without regard to anything but the common 
civilities of life. His opinions might excite surprise; but th(~ 
did not give offence ; for they seemed impersonal, the natui 
outcome of honest and capable observation, with never a t£ 
of national prejudice or individual conceit It was ' 
perhaps, for the young man's natural modesty, that he did n_ 
hear certain remarks afterwards exchanged between the md 
intelligent of his hearers. 

When they passed to the drawing-room, the piano 1 
sounding there. It stopped; the player rose, and mm 
away, but not before Piers had seen that it was Irene. H 
robbed of a delight. Oh, to hear Irene play ! 

Better was in store for him. With a boldness natural |i 
hour, he drew nearer, nearer, watchmg his opportunity. 
chair by Irene's side became vacant ; he stepped forward, a 
was met with a frank countenance, which invited him to ti 
the coveted place. Miss "Dex-went s^Vc a.i.OTMat^A'wn.w 



^M THE CROWN OF LIFE 289 

in the Russian sectaries with whom — she had heard— Otway 
was well acquainted, the people called Dukhobortsi, who held 
the carrying of arms a sin, and suffered persecution because of 
their conscientious refusal to perform military service. Piers 
spoke with enthusiasm of these people. 

"They uphold the ideal above all necessary to our time. 
We ought to be rapidly outgrowing warfare; isn't that the 
obvious next step in civilisation ? It seems a commonplace 
that everyone should look to that end, and strive for it. Yet 
we're going back — there's amilitary react ion — fighting is gloriSed 
by everyone who has a loud voice, and in no country more 
than in England. I wish you could hear a Russian friend of 
mine speak about it, a rich man who has just given up every- 
thing to join the Dukhobortsi. I never knew before what 
religious passion meant. And it seems to me that this is the 
world's only hope — peace made a religion. The forms don't 
matter; only let the supreme end be peace. It is what people 
have talked so much about — the religion of the future." 

His tones moved the listener, as appeared in her look and 
atlilude. 

" Surely all the best in every country lean to it,'' she said. 

"Of course! That's our hope — but at the same time the 
pitiful thing i for the best hold back, keep silence, as if their 
quiet contempt could prevail against this activity of the reckless 
and the foolish." 

" One can't maie a religion," said Irene sadly. " It is 
just this religious spirit which has decayed throughout our 
world. Christianity turns to ritualism. And science — we were 
told, you know, that science would be religion enough." 

" There's the pity — the failure of science as a civilising force. 
I know," added Piers quickly, " that there are men whose 
spirit, whose work, doesn't share in that failure ; they are the 
men — the very few — who are above self-interest. But science, 
on the whole, has come to mean money-making and weapon- 
making. It leads the international struggle ; it is judged by 
its value to the capitalist and the soldier." 

" Isn't this perhaps a stage of evolution that the world must 
live through— to its extreme results ? " 

" Very Ekely. The signs are bad enough," 

" You haven't yourself that enthusiastic hope ? " 
^^I try to hope," said Piers, in a low, unsteady voice, his 
^^m felling timidly before her glance. " fiu^. ■«'d.«. ■^'»i ^■»fi "'j^ 



^^ ■ 

390 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

80 true — one can't create the spirit of religion. If one hasn't 

'■ — He broke off, and added with a smile, " I think I have 
a certain amount of eiiihusiasm. But when one has seen a 
good deal of the world, it's so very easy to feel discouraged. 
Think how much sheer barbarism there is around us, from the 
brutal savage of the gutter to the cunning savage of the Stock 
Exchange ! " 

Irene had a gleam in her eyes ; she nodded appreciation. 

"If," he went on vigorously, "if one could make the 
multitude really understand — understand to the point of 

;ion — how enormously its interest is peace ! " 

" More hope that way, I'm afraid," said Irene," than through 
idealisms." 

" Yes, yes. If it comes at all, it'll be by the way of self- 
interest. And really it looks as if the military tyrants might 
overreach themselves here and there. Italy, for instance. 
Think of Italy, crushed and cursed by a blood-tax that the 
people themselves see to be futile. One enters into the spirit 
of the men who freed Italy from foreigners — it was glorious ; 
but how much more glorious to excite a rebellion there againsi 
her own rulers ! Shouldn't you enjoy doing that ? " 

(\.t times, there is no subtler compliment to a woman than 
to address her as if she were a man. It must be done in- 
voluntarily, as was the case with this utterance of Otway's. 
Irene rewarded him with a look such as he had never had 
from her, the look of rejoicing comradeship. 

" Indeed I should ! Italy is becoming a misery to those who 
love her. Is no plot going on ? Couldn't one start a con- 
spiracy against that infamous misgovemment ? " 

"There's an arch-plotter at work. His name is Hunger. 
Let us be glad that Italy can't enrich herself by manufactures. 
Who knows? The revolution against militarism may begin 
there, as that against feudalism did in France. Talk of 
enthusiasm ! How should we feel if we read in the paper some 
morning that the Italian people had formed into an army of 
peace — refusing to pay another ceiitesimo for warfare? " 

" The next boat for Calais ! The next train for Rome ! " 

Their eyes met, interchanging gleams of laughter. 

" Oh, but the crowd, the crowd ! " sighed Piers. " ^Vhat is 
bad enough to say of it ? Who shall draw its piciure with long 
enough ears ? " 

"It has another aspect, ■joviV.via'M." 



Lin long J 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 291 

" It has. At its best, a smiling simpleton ; at its worst, a 
^Ucderous maniac." 

" You are not exactly a socialist," remarked Irene, with that 
bile which, linking past and present, blended in Otway's 
t old love and new— her smile of friendly irony. 

" Socialism ? I seldom think of it ; which means, that I have 
[) faith in it. — When we came in, you were playing." 

"I miss the connection," said Irene, with a puzzled air. 

" Forgive me. I am fond of music, and it has been in my 
mind all the time — the hope that you would play again." 

" Oh, that was merely the slow music, as one might say, of 
tht drawing-room mysteries — an obligate in the after-dinner 
harmony. I play only to amuse myself — or when it is a 
painful duty." 

Piers was warned by his tactful conscience that he had held 
Miss Derwent quite long enough in talk. A movement in their 
neighbourhood gave miserable opportunity; he resigned his 
seat to another expectant, and did his best to converse with 
someone else. 

Her voice went with him as he walked homeward across the 
Park, under a fleecy sky silvered with moonlight ; the voice 
which now and again brought back so vividly their fim 
meeting at Ewell. He lived through it all again, the tremors, 
the wild hopes, the black despair of eight years ago. How 
she encountered him on the stairs, talked of his long hours 
of study, and prophesied — with thai indescribable blending of 
gravity and jest, still her characteristic — that he would come 
to grief over his examination. Irene I Irene I Did she 
dream what was in his mind and heart ? The long, long love, 
his very life through all labours and cares and casualties— did 
she suspect it, imagine it? If she had received his foolish 
versfs (he grew hot to think of them}, there must have been 
at least a moment when she knew that he worshipped her, and 
does such knowledge ever fade from a woman's memory ? 

Irene t Irene ! Was she brought nearer to him by her 
own experience of heart-trouble ? That she had suffered, he 
could not doubt ; impossible for her to have given her consent 
to marriage unless she believed herself in love with the man 
who wooed her. It could have been no trifling episode in her 
life, whatever the story; Irene was not of the women who 
yield their hands in jest, in pique, in light-hearted ignorance. 
The change visible in her was more, he ^ai\c\ft4, ft\M\ cov^^Nk. 



393 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

due to the mere lapse of time ; during her silences, she bad 
the look of one familiar with mental conflict, perhaps of one 
whose pride had suffered an injury. The one or t^o glances 
which he ventured whilst she was talking with the raan who 
succeeded to his place beside her, perceived a graver counte- 
nance, a reservelsuch as she had not used with him ; and of 
this insubstantial solace he made a sort of hope which winged 
the sleepless hours till daybreak. 

He had permission to call upon Mrs. Borisoff at times alien 
to polite routine, Thus, when nearly a week had passed, he 
sought her company at midday, and found her idling over a 
book, her seat by a window which viewed the Thames, and thi^ 
broad Embankment with its plane trees, and London beyond 
the water, picturesque in squalid hugeness through summer 
haze and the sagging smoke of chimneys numberless. She 
gave a languid hand, pointed to a chair, gazed at him with 
embarrassing fixity. 

" I don't know about the Castle," were her Srst words. 
"Perhaps I shall give it up." 

"You are not serious?" 

Piers spoke and looked in dismay ; and still she kept her 
heavy eyes on him. 

"What does it matter to you?" she asked carelessly. 

"I counted on — on showing you the dales" — 

Mrs. Borisoff nodded twice or thrice, and laughed, then 
pointed to the prospect through the window. 

"This is more interesting. Imagine historians living a 
thousand years hence — what would they give to see what we 

" Oh, one often has that thought. It's about the best way 
of making ordinary life endurable." 

They watched the steamers and barges, silent for a minute 
or two. 

"So you had rather I didn't give up the Castle?" 

"I should be horribly disappointed," 

" Ves — no doubt you would. Why did you come to see 
me to-day? No, no, no ! The real reason." 

"I wanted to talk about Miss Derwent," Piers answered, 
bracing himself to frankness. 

Mrs. Borisoff's lips contracted, in something which was 
not quite a smile, but which became a smile before she 
spoke. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



t If you hadn't told the truth, Mr. Otway, I would have sent 
about your business. Well, talk of her ; I am ready." 
But certainly not if it wearies you "— 

■' Talk ! talk ! " 

"I'll begin with a question. Does Miss Derwent go much 
into society ? " 

" No ; not very much. And it's only the last few months 
that she has been seen at all in London — I mean, since the 
affair that people talked about." 

" Did they talk — disagreeably ? " 

" Gossip — chatter — half malicious without malicious intention 
— Jon'l you know the way of the sweet creatures? I would 
tell you more if 1 could. The simple truth is that Irene has 
never spoken to me about it — never once. When it happened, 
she came suddenly to Paris, to a hotel, and from there wrote 
me a letter, just saying that her marriage was off; no word of 
explanation. Of course I fetched her at once to my house, 
and from that moment to this I have heard not one reference 
from her to the matter. You would like to know something 
about the hero? He has been away a good deal— building up 
the Empire, as they say ; which means, of course, looking after 
his own and other people's dividends." 

"Thank you. Now let us talk about the Castle." 

But Mrs. Borisoff was not in a good humour to-day, and 
Piers very soon took his leave. Her hand felt rather hot ; he 
noticed this particularly, as she let it lie in his longer than 
usual — part of her absent-mindedness. 

Piers bad often resented, as a weakness, his susceptibility 
to the influence of others' moods; he did so to-day, when, 
having gone to Mrs. Borisoff in an unusually cheerful frame 
of mind, he came away languid and despondent. But his 
scheme of life permitted no such idle brooding as used to 
waste his days ; self-discipline sent him to his work, as usual, 
through the afternoon, and in the evening he walked ten miles. 

The weather was brilliant. As he stood, far away in rural 
stillness, watching a noble sunset, he repeated to himself words 
which had of late become his motto, " Enjoy noiv ! This 
moment will never come again." But the intellectual resolve 
was one thing, the moral aptitude another. He did not enjoy ; 
how many hours in all his life had brought him real enjoyment ? 
Idle to repeat and repeat that life was the pa.ss\v\^ ttrnv-Vt, 
which must be seized, made the mo5l o^ ', \\e covJA tvAXwc \ti 



r 
I 



«94 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 



the present ; life was to him for ever ft thing postponed, " 1 
will live — I will enjoy — some day ! " As likely as not that day 
would never dawn. 

Was it true, as admonishing reason sometimes whispered, 
that happiness cometh not by observation, that the only tnie 
content is in the moments which we pass without self-conscious- 
ness? Is all attainment followed by disillusion? A man 
aware of his health is on the verge of malady. Were he to 
possess his desire, to exclaim, " I am happy," would the Fates 
chastise his presumption ? 

That way lay asceticism, which his soul abhorred. On, 
rather, following the great illusion, if this it were ! " The crown 
of life" — philosophise as he might, that word had still its 
meaning, still its inspiration. Let the present pass untasted; 
he preferred his dream of a day to come. 

Next morning, very unexpectedly, he received a note from 
Mrs, Borisoff, inviting him to dine with her a few days hence. 
About her company she said nothing, and Piers went, uncertain 
whether it was a dinner tite-h-tete or with other guests. When 
he entered the room, the first face he beheld was Irene's. 

It was a very small party, and the hostess wore her gayest 
countenance. A delightful evening, from the social point of 
view; for Piers Otway a time of self-forgetfulness in Ihe 
pleasures of sight and hearing. He could have little private 
talk with Irene ; she did not talk much with anyone ; but he 
saw her, he heard her voice, he lived in the glory of her 
presence Moreover, she consented to play. Of her skill as 
a pianist, Otway could not judge ; what he heard was Music, 
music absolute, the ^ery music of the spheres. When it 
ceased, Mrs Bonsoff chanced to look at him ; he was 
startlingly pile, his eyes wide as if in vision more than 
mortal, 

" I lea\ e town to morrow," said his hostess, as he took leave. 
" Some friends are going with me. You shall hear how wftj 
get on at the Castle," I 

Perhaps her look was meant to supplement this bare newM 
It seemed to offer reassurance. Did she understand his looH 
of entreaty in reply ? I 

Music breathed about him in the lonely hours. It exalted 
his passion, lulled the pains of desire, held the flesh subseivienfl 
to spirit. What is love, says the physiologist, but ravening 
sex ? If so, in Pieis Oways \«ca.'Si. fee '^vvw.A v ' " 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 295 

undergone strange transformation. How wrought? — he asked 
himself. To what destiny did it correspond, this winged love 
soaring into the infinite ? This rapture of devotion, this utter 
humbling of self, this ardour of the poet-soul singing a fellow- 
creature to the heaven of heavens — by what alchemy comes it 
forth from blood and tissue? Nature has no need of such 
lyric life; her purpose is well achieved by humbler instru- 
mentality. Romantic lovers are not the ancestry of noblest 
lines. 

And if — as might well be — his love were defeated, fruitless, 
what end in the vast maze of things would his anguish serve ? 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

AFTER his day's work, he had spent an hour among the 
pictures at Burlington House. He was lingering before 
an exquisite landscape, unwilling to change this atmosphere 
of calm for the roaring street, when a voice timidly addressed 
him : 

" Mr. Otway ! " 

How altered! The face was much, much older, and in 
some indeterminable way had lost its finer suggestions. At 
her best, Olga Hannaford had a distinction of feature, a 
singularity of emotional expression, which made her beautiful ; 
in Olga Florio the lines of visage were far less subtle, and 
classed her under an inferior type. Transition from maiden- 
hood to what is called the matronly had been too rapid ; it 
was emphasised by her costume, which cried aloud in its excess 
of modish splendour. 

" How glad I am to see you again ! " she sighed tremorously, 
pressing his hand with fervour, gazing at him with furtive 
directness. " Are you living in England now ? " 

Piers gave an account of himseB". He was a little embar- 
rassed, but quite unagitated. A sense of pity averted his eyes 
after the first wondering look. 

" Will you — may I venture — can you spare the time to come 
and have tea with me ? My carriage is waiting — I am quite 
alone — I only looked in for a few minutes, to rest my mind 
after a lunch with, oh, such tiresome people ! " 

His impulse was to refuse, at all costs to refuse. The voice, 
the glance, the phrases jarred upon him, shocked him. Already 
he had begun " I am afraid " — when a hurried, vehement 
whisper broke upon his excuse. 

" Don't be unkind to me ! I beg you to come 1 I entreat 
you ! " 

"I will come with pleasure," he said in a loud voice of 
ordinary civility. 



^m THE CROWN OF LIFE ag? 

At once she turned, and he followed. Without speaking, 
they descended the great staircase ; a brougham drove up ; 
they rolled away westward. Never had Piers felt such thorough 
moral discomfort ; the heavily perfumed air of the carriage 
depressed and all hut nauseated him ; the inevitable touch of 
Olga's garments made him shrink. She had begun to talk, 
and talked incessantly throughout the homeward drive; not 
much of herself, or of him, but about the pleasures and excite- 
ments of the idle-busy world. It was meant, he supposed, to 
convey to him an idea of her prosperous and fashionable life. 
Her husband, she let fall, was for the moment in Italy ; affairs 
of importance sometimes required his presence there ; but they 
both preferred England. The intellectual atmosphere of 
London — where else could one live on so high a level ? 

The carriage stopped in a street beyond Edgware Road, at 
a house of more modest appearance than Otway had looked 
for. Just as they alighted, a nursemaid with a perambulator 
was approaching the door; Piers caught sight of a very pale 
little face shadowed by the hood, but his companion, without 
heeding, ran up the steps, and knocked violently. They 
entered. 

Still the oppressive atmosphere of perfumes. Left for a 
few minutes in a little drawing-room, or boudoir. Piers stood 
marvelling at the ingenuity which had packed so much 
furniture and bric-it-brae, so many pictures, so much drapery, 
into so small a space. He longed to throw open the window ; 
he could not sit still in this odour-laden hothouse, where the 
very flowers were burdensome by excess. When Olga 
reappeared, she was gorgeous in flowing tea-gown ; her tawny 
hair hung low in artful profusion ; her neck and arms were 
bare, her feel brilliantly slippered. 

" Ah ! How good, how good, it is to sit down and talk to 
you once more ! — Do you like my room ? " 

" Vou have made yourself very comfortable," replied Otway, 
striking a note as much as possible in contrast to that of his 
hostess. " Some of these drawings are your own work, no 
doubt ? " 

"Yes, some of them," she answered languidly, "Do you 
remember that pastel ? Ah, surely you do — from the old days 
at Ewell ! " 

"Of course! — That is a portrait of your Kvjs.Wwi'i" Vc 
added, indicating a hejid on a little ease\. 



r 



298 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

" Yes — idealised 1 " 

She laughed, and put the subject away. Then tea was 
brought in, and after pouring it, Olga grew silent. Resolute 
to talk. Piers had the utmost difticulty in finding topics, 
but he kept up an everyday sort of chat, postponing as 
long as possible the conversation foreboded by his com- 
panion's face. When he was weary, Olga's opportunity came. 

" There is something I musi say to you "■ — 

Her arms hung lax, her head drooped forward, she looked 
at him from under her brows. 

"I have suffered so much — oh, I have suffered! I have 
longed for this moment. Will you say— that you forgive me?" 

" My dear Mrs. Florio " — Piers began with good-natured 
expostulation, a sort of forced bluffness ; but she would not 
hear him. 

" Not that name I Not from yon. There's no harm ; you 
won't — you can't misunderstand me, such old friends as we 
are. I want you to call me by my own name, and to make 
me feel that we are friends still — that you can really forgive 
me." 

"There is nothing in the world to forgive," he insisted, in 
the same tone. " Of course we are friends ! How could we 
be anything else?" 

*' I behaved infamously to you ! I can't think how I had 
the heart to do it t " 

Piers was tortured with nervousness. Had her voice and 
manner declared insincerity, posing, anything of that kind, he 
would have found the situation much more endurable; btii 
Olga had tears in her eyes, and not the tears of an actress ; 
her tones had recovered something of their old quality, and 
reminded him painfully of the time when Mrs. Hannaford was 
dying. She held a band to him, her pale face besought his 
compassion. 

"Come now, let us talk in the old way, as you wish," he 
.said, just pressing her fingers. " Of course I feit it — but thi!ii 
1 was myself altogether to blame. I importuned you for 
what you couldn't give. Remembering that, wasn't youi ■ 
action the most sensible, and really the kindest?" m 

" I don't know," Olga murmured, in a voice just audible. ^| 

" Of course it was ! There now, we've done with all tfa|9 
Tell me more about your life this last year or two. You S^| 
such a brilliant person. 1 <e\X ia.ftve.1 tsscioiTO.ft" — ^ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE agg 

[•Nonsense!" But Olga brightened a little. "What of 

"r own brilliancy? I read somewhere that you are a famous 
1 in Russia" — 

Piers laughed, spontaneously this time, and, finding it a 
fcy of escape, gossiped about his own achievements with 
■irthful exaggeration. 

" Do you see the Derwents ? " Mrs. Florio asked of a sudden, 
S*h a sidelong look. 

\ So vexed was Otway at the embarrassment he could not 
_"iolly hide, and which delayed his answer, that he spoke the 
[Bth with excessive bluntness. 

"I have met Miss Derwent in society." 

"I don't often see them," said Olga, in a tone of 
jiness. "I suppose we belong to different worlds." 

At the earliest possible moment, Piers rose with decision, 

k felt that he had not pleased Mrs. Florio, that perhaps he 

1 offended her, and in leaving her he tried to atone for 

iDluntary un kindness. 
f"But we shall see each other again, of course!" she 

[claimed, retaining his hand. "You will come again 

mn?" 

"Certainly I will." 

" And your address — let me have your address "— 

He breathed deeply in the open air. Glancing back at the 

house when he had crossed the street, he saw a white hand 

waved to him at a window ; it hurried his step. 

On the following day, Mrs. Florio visited her friend Miss 
Bonnicastle, who had some time since exchanged the old 
quarters in Great Portland Street for a house in Pimlico, 
where there was a larger studio {workshop, as she preferred 
to call it), hung about with her own and other people's designs. 
The artist of the poster was full as ever of vitality and of 
good-nature, but her humour had not quite the old spice ; a 
stickler for decorum would have said that she was decidedly 
improved, that she had grown more womanly ; and something 
of this change appeared also in her work, which tended now 
to the graceful rather than the grotesque. She received her 
fashionable visitant with off-hand friendliness, not altogether 
with cordiality. 

tOh, I've something to show you. Do you know tb>a.i. 
e?" 



300 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

Olga took a business- card, and read upon it : " Alexander 
Otway, Dramatic & Musical Agent." 

" It's his brother," she said, in a voice of quiet surprise, 

" I thought so. The man called yesterday — wants a 
fetching thing to boom an Irish girl at the halls. There''^ 
her photo." 

It represented a piquant person in short skirts ; a face 
neither very pretty nor very young, but likely to be deemed 
attractive by the public in question. They amused them- 
selves over it for a moment. 

" He used to be a journalist," said Olga. " Does he 
to be doing well ? " 

"Couldn't say, A great talker, and a furious Jingo." 

"Jingo?" 

"This woman is to sing a song of his composirion, all 
about the Empire. Not the hall; the British. Glorifies 
the Flag, that blessed rag — a rhyme I suggested to him, and 
asked him to pay me for. It's a taking tune, and we shatl 
have it everywhere, no doubt. He sang a verse — I wish you 
could have heard him. A queer fish ! " 

Olga walked about, seeming to inspect the pictures, but in 
reality much occupied with her thoughts. 

" Well," sbe said presently, " I only looked in, dear, to say 
how-do-you-do." 

Miss Bonnicastle was drawing ; she turned, as if to shake 
hands, but looked her friend In the face with a peculiai 
expression, far more earnest than was commonly seen 
her. 

" You called on Kite yesterday morning." 

Olga, with slight confusion, admitted that she had been la 
see the artist. For some weeks Kite had suffered from an 
ailment which confined him to the house ; he could not walk, 
and indeed could do nothing but lie and read, or talk of what 
he would do, when he recovered his health. Cheap claret 
having lost its inspiring force, the poor fellow had turned to 
more potent beverages, and would ere now have sunk into 
inscrutable deeps but for Miss Bonnicastle, who interested, 
herself in his welfare. Olga, after losing sight of him 
nearly two years, by chance discovered his whereabouts : 
his circumstances, and twice in the past week had paid baa 
visit. 

"I wanted to teU V^^" ^^''^viei 'Wvb'i ?.QTvtw.aatle^ 



i 



i 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 301 

idy, malier-of-fact voice, ''that he's going to have a room 

his house, and be looked after." 
J* Indeed ? " 

There was a touch of malice in Olga's surprise. She held 
rself rather stiffly. 
I " It's just as well to be straightforward," continued the 
"I should like to say that it'll be very much better if 

u don't come to see him at all." 

as now very dignified indeed. 

" Oh, pray say no more ! I quite understand — ^quite ! " 

" I shouldn't have said it at all," rejoined Miss Bonnicastle, 

^ I could have trusted your— discretion. The fact is, 1 

bid I couldn't." 

I" Really ! " exclaimed Olga, red with anger. " Vou might 
s me insults 1 " 

" Come, come 1 We're not going to fiy at each other, Olga. 
I intended no insult ; but, whilst we're about it, do take 
; from one who means it well. Sentiment is all right, 
Tbut sentimentality is all wrong. Do get rid of it, there's a 
good girl. You're meant for something better." 

Olga made a great sweep of the floor with her skirts, and 
vanished in a wliirJ of perfuirie. 

She drove straight to the address which she had seen on 
Alexander Otway's card. It was in a decently sordid street 
south of the river ; in a window on the ground floor hung an 
announcement of Alexander's name and business. As Olga 
stood at the door, there came out, showily dressed for walking, 
a person in whom she at once recognised the original of the 
portrait at Miss Bonnicastle's. It was no other than Mrs, 
Otway, the " Biddy " whose simple singing had so pleased 
her brother-in-law years ago, 

"Is it the agent you want to see?" she asked, in her tongue 
of County Wesford. "The door to the right." 

Alexander jumped up, all smiles at sight of so grand a lady. 
He had grown very obese, and very red about the neck ; his 
linen might have been considerably cleaner, and his coat 
better brushed. But he seemed in excellent spirits, and 
glowed when his visitor began by saying that she wished to 
speak in confidence of a delicate matter. 

" Mr. Otway, you have an elder brother, his name Daniel." 

The listener's countenance fell. 

•' Madam, I'm sorry to say I have." 



joa 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 



" He has wrilten to me, more ihan ooce, a begging lei 
My name doesn't matter ; I'll only say that he used to ' 
me slightly long ago. I wish to ask you whether he is 
in want." 

Alexander hesitated, with much screwing of the features. 

"Well, he may be, now and then," was his reply at length 
" 1 have helped him, but, to tell the truth, it's not much good. 
So far as I know, he has no regular supplies — but it's his own 
fault." 

"Exactly." 0!ga evidently approached a point still more 
delicate. " I presume he has worn out the patience of hth 
brothers ? " 

"Ah!" The agent shook his head. "I'm sorry to say 
thai the olhet's patience — I see you know something of oui 
family circumstances— never allowed itself to be tried. He's 
very well off, I believe, but he'U do nothing for poor Dan, 
and never would. I'm bound to admit Dan has his faults, 
but still " — 

His brows expressed sorrow rather than anger on the subjeci 
of his hard-fisted relative. 

" Do you happen to know anything," pursued Olga, lowerin}^ 
her voice, "of a transaction about certain — certain letters, 
which were given up by Daniel Otway ? " 

" Why — yes. I've heard something about that affair." 

"Those letters, I always understood, were purchased from 
him at a considerable price." 

"That's true," replied Alexander, smiling familiarly as he 
leaned across the table. " But the considerable price was 
never paid — not one penny of it." 

Olga's face changed. She had a wondering, tost, pained 

" Mr. Otway, are you sure of that ? " 

" Well, pretty sure. Dan has talked of it more than once, 
and 1 don't think he could talk as he does if there wasn't a 
real grievance. I'm very much afraid he was cheated. Per- 
haps I oughtn't to use that word ; I daresay Dan had no right 
to ask money for the letters at all. But there was a bai^in. 
and I'm afraid it wasn't honourably kept on the other side." 

Olga reflected for a moment, and rose, saybg that she 
was obliged, that this ended her business. Alexander's 
curiosity sought to prolong the conversation, but in vain. 
(ben threw out a word cotjcfttwrnt Kw professional interestaj 



I 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 303 

would the lady permit him to bespeak her countenance for a 
new singer, an Irish girl of great talent, who would be coming 
out very shortly? 

"She has a magnificent song, madam! The very spirit 
of Patriotism — stirring, stirring! Let me offer you one of 
her photos. Miss Ennis Corthy — you'll soon see the 
announcements. " 

Olga drove away in a troubled dream. 



I 



CHAPTER XXXV 

'"T'HE 13th will suit admirably," wrote Helen BorisofT- 
-L "That morning my guests leave, and we shall be quit'. 
^except for the popping of guns round about. Which 
reminds me that my big, healthy Englishman of a cousin (him 
you met in town) will be down here to slaughter little IJirds 
in aristocratic company, and may most likely look in to tell 
us of his bags. I will meet you at the station." 

So Irene, alone, journeyed from King's Cross into the North 
Riding. At evening, the sun golden amid long lazy clouds 
that had spent their showers, she saw wide Wensleydale, its 
closing hills higher to north and south as the train drew 
onward, green slopes of meadow and woodland rising to the 
bent and the heather. At a village station appeared the 
welcoming face of her friend Helen. A countryman with his 
homely gig drove them up the hillside, the sweet air singing 
about them from moorland heights, the long dale spreadinn 
in grander prospect as they ascended, then hidden as the; 
dropped into a wooded glen, where the horse splashed through 
a broad beck and the wheels jolted over boulders of lime- 
atone, Out again into the sunset, and at a turn of the climbing 
road stood up before them the grey old Castle, in its shadow 
the church and the hamiet, and all around the glory of rolling 
hills. 

Of the four great towers, one lay a shattered ruin, one only 
remained habitable. Above the rooms occupied by Mrs. 
Borisoff and her guests was that which had imprisoned the 
Queen of Scots ; a chamber of bare stone, with high embrasure 
narrowing to the slit of window which admitted daylight, and, 
if one climbed the sill, gave a glimpse of far mountains. Down 
below, deep under the roots of the tower, was the Castle's 
dungeon, black and deadly. Early on the morrow Helen led 
her friend to see these things. Then they climbed to the 
batlJeraents, where \Vie smt> stvcme hot, and Helen pointed out 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



30s 



Ice features of the vast landscape, naming heights, and little 
kales which pour their tributaries into the Ure, and villages 
■ring amid the rich pasture. 

I "And yonder is H awes," said Irene, pointing to the head 
Bf the dale. 

f " Yes ; too far to see." 

I They did not exchange a took. Irene spoke at once of 
iOme thing else. 

L There came to lunch Mrs. BorisofTs cousin, a grouse-guest 
k a house some miles away. He arrived on horsebaclt, and 
K approach was watched with interest by two pairs of eyes 
^fen the Castle windows. Mr. March looked well in the 
Bklle, for he was a strong, comely man of about thirty, who 
U^d mostly under the open sky. Irene had met him only 
Bee, and that b a drawing-room ; she saw him now to 
Beater advantage, heard him talk freely of things he under- 
fed and enjoyed, and on the whole did not dislike him. 
nth Helen he was a favourite ; she affected to make fun of 
fcl. but had confessed to Irene that she respected him more 
Hn any other of her county-family kinsfolk. As he talked 
Bbis two days' shooting, he seemed to become aware that 
Hss Derwent had no profound interest in this subject, and 
Bre fell from him an unexpected apology. 
H^Of course it isn't a very noble kind of sport," he said, 
Bb a laugh, " One is invited — one takes it in the course of 
Hngs. I prefer the big game, where there's a chance of 
Btving to shoot for your life." 

f "I suppose one must shoot something," remarked Irene, as 
fanusing a commonplace. 

K^arch took it with good-nature, like a man who cannot 
fkember whether that point of view ever occurred to him, 
H who is quite willing to think about it Indeed, he seemed 
^Be than willing to give attention to anything Miss Derwent 
^Ke to say : something of this inclination had appeared even 
ROieir first meeting, and to-day it was more marked. He 
Htred reluctance when the hour obliged him to remount his 
Hbe. Mrs. EorisofFs hope that she might see him again 
^K>Te he left this part of the country received a prompt and 
Herful reply. 

H&ter that afternoon, the two friends climbed the great 
H^ide above the Castle, and rambled far over the moorland, 
Wa. windy height where they loolted iWo iee^ VAi^-wiiR^sit- 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



Ihci^ 



306 



Their talk was only of the scenes around them, until, 
way back, they approached a line of three-walled shelters, 
built of rough stone, about the height of a man. In reply to 
Irene's question, Helen explained the use of these structures ; 
she did so in an off-hand way, with the proper terms, and 
would have passed on, but Irene stood gazing. 

" What ! They lie in ambush here, whilst men drive the 
birds towards them, to be shot ? " 

" It's sport," rejoined the other indifferently, 

" I see. And here are the old cartridges." A heap of them 
lay close by amid the ling. " 1 don't wonder that Mr, March 
seemed a little ashamed of himself." 

" But surely you knew all about this sort of thing 
Mrs. Borisoff, with a Uttle laugh of impatience. 

"No, I didn't" 

She had picked up one of the cartridge-cases, and, after 
examining it, her eyes wandered about the vast-rolling moor. 
The wind sang low ; the clouds sailed across the mighty dome 
of heaven ; not a human dwelling was visible, and not a sound 
broke upon nature's infinite calm. 

"It amazes me," Irene continued, subduing her voice. 
"Incredible that men can come up here just to bang guns 
and see beautiful birds fall dead ! One would think that what 
they saw here would stop their hands — that this silence would 
fill their minds and hearts, and make it impossible 1 " 

Her voice had never trembled with such emotion in Helen's 
hearing. It was not Irene's habit to speak in this way ; she 
had the native reticence of English women, preferring to keep 
silence when she felt strongly, or to disguise her feeling with 
irony and jest, But the hour and the place overcame her ; a 
noble passion shone in her clear eyes, and thrilled in her 
utterance. 

"What barbarians !" 

"Yet you know they are nothing of the kind," objected 
Helen. " At least, not all of them." 

"Mr. March? — You called him, yourself, a fine barbarian, 
quoting from Matthew Arnold. I never before understood 
how true that description was." 

"I assure you, it doesn't apply to him, whatever I may have 
said in joke. This shooting is the tradition of a certain class. 
It's one of the ways in which greal, strong men get their 
necessary exercise. Some o^ fc^m ieal, at moments, just as 



TCh 
laiaJ 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



you do, I've no doubt ; but there they are, a lot of them 
together, and a man can't make himself ridiculous, you know." 

"You're not like yourself in this, Helen," said Irene. 
"You're not speaking as you think. Another time, you'll 
confess it's abominable savagecj', with not one good word to 
be said for it. And more contemptible than I ever suspected I 
I'm so glad I've seen this. It helps to clear my thoughts 
about — about things in general." 

She flung away the little yellow cylinder— flung it far from 
her with disgust, and, as if to forget it, plucked as she walked 
on a spray of heath, which glowed with its purple bells among 
thag^edder ling. Helen's countenance was shadowed. She 
spoke no more for several minutes. 

\Vhen two days had passed, March again came riding up to 
the Castle, and lunched with the ladies. Irene was secretly 
vexed. At breakfast she had su^ested a whole day's 
excursion, which her friend persuaded her to postpone ; the 
reason must have been Helen's private knowledge that Mr. 
March was coming, In consequence, the iunch fell short of 
perfect cheerfulness. For reasons of her own, Irene was just 
a little formal in her behaviour to the guest; she did not 
talk so well as usual, and bore herself as a girl must who 
wishes, without unpleasantness, to check a man's significant 
approaches. 

In the hot afternoon, chairs were taken out into the shadow 
of the Castle walls, and there the three sat conversing. Some- 
one drew near, a man, whom the careless glance of Helen's 
cousin took for a casual tourist about to view the ruins. 
Helen herself, and in the same moment, Irene, recognised 
Piers Otway. It seemed as though Mrs. BorisofT would not 
rise to welcome him ; her smile was dubious, half surprised. 
She cast a glance at Irene, whose face was set b the austerest 
self-control, and thereupon not only stood up, but stepped 
forward with cordial greeting. 

" So you have really come ! Delighted to see you ! Are 
you walking — as you said?" 

"Too hot!" Piers replied, with a laugh. "I spent 
yesterday at York, and came on in a cowardly way by 
train." 

He was sliaking hands witli Irene, who dropped a word or 
two of mere courtesy. In introducing him to March. Mrs. 
BorisofT said, "An old friend of ours," whicU ca-viseA. V«k 



r'"^ ^ 
jdB the crown of life ^M 

stalwart cousin to survey the dark, slimly-built man very ■ 
attentively. 

" Well gel you a chair, Mr. Otway " — 
" No, no ! Let me sit or lie here on the grass. It's all 1 
fed fit for after the climb." 

He threw himself down, nearer to Helen than to her friend, 
and the talk became livelier than before his arrival. Irene 
emerged from the taciturnity into which she had more and 
more withdrawn, and March, not an unobservant man, 
ciidently noted this, and reflected upon it, He had at first 
regarded the new-comer with a civil aloofness, as one not of 
his world; presently, he seemed to ask himself to what 
world the singular being might belong — a man who knew 
how to behave himself, and whose talk implied more than 
common savoir-uivre, yet who differed in such noticeable 
points from an Englishman of the leisured class. 

Helen was in a mischievous mood. She broached the 
subject of grouse, addressing to Otway an ambiguous remark 
which led March to ask, with veiled surprise, whether he was 
a sportsman. 

"Mr. Otway's taste is for bi^er game," she exclaimed, 
before Piers could reply. "He lives in hope of poRing 
Russians on the Indian frontier." 

" Well, I can sympathise with him in that," said the 
limbed man, puzzled but smiling. "He'll probably have 
chance before very long." 

No sooner had he spoken than a scarlet confusion glowed 
upon his face. In speculating about Otway, he had for the 
moment forgotten his cousin's name. 

" I ieg your pardon, Helen ! — What an idiot I am ! Of 
course you were joking, and I "— 

" Don't, don't, don't apologise, Edward ! Tell truth andfj 
shame — your Russian relatives ! I like you all the better for iL" 
"Thank you," he answered. "And after all, there's no 
harm in a little fighting. It's better to fight and have done 
with it than keeping on plotting between compliments. 
Nations are just like schoolboys, you know ; there has to be a 
round now and then ; it settles things, and is good for 
blood." 

Otway was biting a blade of grass; he smiled and 
nothing. Mrs. Sorisoff glanced from him to Irene, who 
was smiling, but \ooV.ed WXt Nci^ei. 



sRing 

ave j|V 



yits. 
bea 

sadi 

3 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 






J "How can it be good, for heallli or anything else ? "' Miss 
Derwent asked suddenly, turning to the speaker. 

' we couldn't do ivithout fighting. It's in human 

In uncivilised human nature, yes," 

But really, you know," urged Majch, with good-natured 
[eference, " it wouldn't do to civilise away pluck — courage — 
leroism — whatever one likes to call it." 

"Of course it wouldn't. But what has pluck or heroism to 
do with bloodshed? How can anyone imagine that courage is 
only shown in fighting? I don't happen to have been in a 
battle, but one knows very well how easy it must be for any 
coward or brute, excited to madness, to become what's called 
a hero. Heroism is noble courage in ordinary life. Are you 
.serious in thinking that life offers no opportunities for it ? " 

" Weil — it's not quite the same thing " — 
Happily, not ! It's a vasfly better thing. Every day some 

.ver deed is done by plain men and women — yes, women, if 
you please — than was ever known on the battlefield. One 
only hears of them now and then. On the railway — on the 
sea — in the hospital — in burning houses — in accidents of road 
and street — are there no opportunities for courage? In the 
commonest everyday home life, doesn't any man or woman 
have endless cliances of being brave or a coward f And this 
is civilised courage, not the fury of a bull at a red rag," 

Piers Otway had ceased to nibble his blade of grass j his 
eyes were fixed on Irene, When she had made a sudden end 
of speaking, when she smiled her apology for the fervour 
forbidden in poUte converse, he still gazed at her, self-oblivious. 
Helen Eorisoff watched him, askance. 

" Let us go in and have some tea," she said, rising abruptly, 

Soon after, March said good-bye, a definite good-bye ; he 
was going to another part of England, With all the grace of 
his caste he withdrew from a circle, in which, temptations 
notwithstanding, he had not felt quite at ease. Riding down 
the dale through a sunny shower, he was refreshed and himself 
again. 

" Where do you put up to-night ? " asked Helen of Otway, 
turning to him, when the other man had gone, with a brusque 
familiarity. 

" At the inn down in Redmire." 

"And what do you do to-moitow')" 



3>o 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



" Go to see the falls at Aysgarth, for one thing. Thei 
been rain up on the hills ; the river will be grand." 

" Perhaps we shall be there." 

When Piers had left ihem, Helen said to her friend 

" 1 wanted to ask him to stay and dine — but 1 didn't kn( 
whether you would like it." 

" 1 ? I am not the hostess." 

"No, but you have humours, Irene. One has to 
careful." 

Irene knitted her brows, and stood for a moment 
face half averted. 

"If I cause this sort of embarrassment," she said franl 
" I think I oughm't to stay." 

'■It's easily put right, my dear girl. Answer me a sim] 
question. If I lead Mr. Otway to suppose that his comj 
for a few days is not disagreeable to us, shall I worry you, 
not i" " 

"Not in the least," was the equally direct answer. 

"That's better. We've always got along so well, you knowj 
that it's annoying to fee! there's something not quite understood 
between us, — Then I shall send a note down to the inn where 

i staying, to appoint a meeting at Aysgarth to-morroi 
And I shall ask him to come here for the rest of the day, if " 
chooses." 

At nightfall, the rain-clouds spread from the hills of Wi 
morland, and there were some hours of downpour. This 
not look hopeful for the morrow, but, on the other hand, it 
promised a finer sight at the falls, if by chance the weather 
grew tolerable. The sun rose amid dropping vapours, and at 
breakfast-time had not yet conquered the day, but a sti 
brightening soon put an end to doubt. The friends pre] 
to set forth. 

As they were entering the carriage there arrived the postmi 
with letters for both, which they read driving down to the 
One of Irene's corresjiondents was her brother, and the contei 
of Eustace's letter so astonished her that she sat for a 
absorbed in thought. 

"No bad news, I hope?" said Helen, who had glar 
quickly over a few lines from her husband, now at Osiend. 

" No, but startling. You may as well read the letter." 

It was written in Eustace Derwenl's best style ; really a 
good letter, both as Xo com^owSAow mi6. \-r ■* 






THE CROWN OF LIFE 311 

leling. After duly preparing his sister for what might come 
ft a shock, he made koown to her Chat he was about to many 
;. John Jacks, the widow of the late Member of Parliament. 

[ can quite imagine," he proceeded, "that this may trouble 
r mind by exciting unpleasant memories, and perhaps may 

ike you apprehensive of disagreeable things in the future, 

tay have no such uneasiness. Only this morning I had a 

ng talk with Arnold Jacks, who was very friendly, and indeed 
Juld not have behaved better, He spoke of you, and quite 
Bthe proper way ; I was to remember him very kindly to you, 
T thought the remembrance would not be unwelcome. As 

r my dear Marian, you will find her everything that a sister 

buld be." Followed sundry details and promise of more 

B>rmation when they met again in town, 

'" Describe her to me," said Helen, who had a slight 

[quaintance with Irene's brother. 

"One word does it — irreproachable. A couple of years 

ler than Eustace, I think ; John Jacks was more than 

Bee her age, so it's only fair. The dear boy will probably 

e up his profession, and become an ornament of society, a 

Jde! of all the proprieties. Wonderful ! I shan't realise it 

t! a few days." 

As they drove on to the bridge at Aysgarth, Piers Otway 
stood there awaiting them. They exchanged few words ; the 
picture before their eyes, and the wild music that filled the 
air, imposed silence. Headlong between its high banks 
plunged the swollen torrent, the roaring spate; brown from its 
washing of the peaty moorland, and churned into flying flakes 
of foam. Over the worn ledges, at other times a succession of 
little waterfalls, rolled in resistless fury a mighty cataract ; at 
great rocks in mid-channel it leapt with suites like those of an 
angry sea. The spectacle was fascinating in its grandeur, 
appalling in its violence; with the broad leafage of the 
glen arched over it in warm, still sunshine, wondrously 
beautiful. 

They wandered some way by the river banks ; then drove to 
other spots of which Otway spoke, lunched at a village inn, 
and by four o'clock returned all together to the Castle. After 
tea. Piers found himself alone with Irene, Mrs, Borisoff had 
left the room whilst he was speaking, and so silently that for a 
moment he was not aware of her withdrawal. Alone with 
Irene, for the first time since he WA VnoicR Vss ", «hw\ «*. 



^ 



3IZ THE CROWN OF LIFE 



1 

com- i|i 



w 

^H Ewell, long ago, they had never been together witliout com- 

^V panionship. There fell a silence. Piers could not lift his 

^H eyes to the face which had all day been before him, the face 

^H which seemed more than ever beautiful amid nature's beautie^ 

^P He wished to thank her for the letter she had written him lo ! 

^M Petersburg, but was fearful of seeming lo make loo much of tt 

^M mark of kindness, Irene herself resumed the conversation. 
^1 "You will continue to write for the reviews, I hope?" 

^M " I shall try to," he answered softly. 

^M " Your Russian must be very idiomatic. I found it hard 

^M places." 
^B Overcome with delight, he looked at her and bent towan 

^H " Mrs. fiorisoff told me you had learnt. I know what th 

^B means — learning Russian in England, out of books. 

lo do it at Ewell — do you remember?" 
" Yes, I remember very well. Have you written anythii 

besides these two articles?" 

I" Written^yes, but not published. 1 have written all soi 
of things." His voice shook. " Even — verse." 
He repented the word as soon as it was uttered. Again h 
eyes could not move towards hers. 
"I know you have," said Irene, in the voice of one wl 
smiles. 
"I have never been sure that you knew it — that you recdv) 
those verses," 
" To tell you the truth, I didn't know how to acknowledj 
them. I never received the dedication of a poem, before I 
since, and in my awkwardness I put off my thanks till it m 
loo late to send them. But I remember the lines ; I thin 
they were beautiful. Shall you ever include them 
volume ? " 
" I wrote no more, I am no poet. Yet if you had given, 
word of praise " — he laughed, as one does when emotion is W 
strong — "I should have written on and on, with a glortot 
belief in myself." 

I" Perhaps it was as well, then, that I said nothing. Poeti 
must come of itself, without praise — don't you think ? " 
"Yes, I lived it — or tried to live it — instead of putting 
into metre." 
"That's exactly what I once heard my father say ab( 
l)in}ss!(. And he caUci rt coi\svhrwi% Vvvi ci'kvi smoke." 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 313 

Piers could not but join in her quiet laugh, yet he had never 
felt a moment less opportune for laughter. As if to prove that 
she purposely changed the note of their dialogue, Irene reached 
a volume from the table, and said in the most matter-of-fact 
voice : 

" Here's a passage of Tolstoi that I can't make out. Be my 
professor, please. First of all, let me hear you read it aloud, 
for the accent." 

The lesson continued till Helen entered the room again. 
Irene so willed it. 



*-* 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

SHE sat by her open window, which looked c 
to the long high ridge of moors, softly drawn against J 
moonlit sky. Far below sounded the rushing Ure, and f 
moments there came upon the fitful breeze a deeper muffi 
thai of the falls at Aysgarth, miles away. It was an hour sin 
she had bidden good-night to Helen, and two hours or n 
since all else in the Castle and in the cottages had been Si 
and dark. She loved this profound quiet, this solitude g 
by the eternal powers of nature. She loved the memori 
imaginings borne upon the stillness of these grey old towers.^ 

The fortress of warrior-lords, the prison of a queen, th? 
Royalist refuge — fallen now into such placid dreaminess of 
age. Into the dark chamber above, desolate, legend-haunted, 
perchance in some moment of the night there fell through the 
narrow window-niche a pale moonbeam, touching the floor, the 
walls of stone ; such light in gloom as may have touched the 
face of Mary herself, wakeful with her recollections and lier 
fears. Musing it in her fancy, Irene thought of love and deal^ 

Had it come to her at length, that love which was so stranj^ 
and distant when, in ignorance, she believed it her companio^ 
Verses in her mind, verses that would never be forgott(( 
however lightly she held them, sang and rang to a new melof 
They were not poetry — said he who wrote them. Yet th 
were truth, sweetly and nobly uttered. The false, the triviB 
does not so cling to memory, year after year. ^_ 

They had helped her to know him, these rhyming lines, Ot 
so she fancied. They shaped in her mind, slowly, insensibly, 
an image of the man, throughout the lapse of time when she 
neither saw him nor heard of him. Whether £ ' " 
how should she assure herself? She only knewtl 
of it seemed alien when compared with the impression o 
Wo ]ast days. Yet the pktute was an ideal ; the v 
' 1 honour, \ove ■, \^e ani tvq o*\w. "Cii. ^ 




■ THE CROWN OF LIFE 315 

deceive herself in thinking that this ideal and the man who 
spoke with her, were one? 

It had grown without her knowledge, apart from her will, 
this conception of Piers Otway. The first half-consciousness 
of such a thought came to her when she heard from Olga of 
those letters, obtained by him for a price, and given to the 
kinsfolk of the dead woman. An interested generosity? She 
had repelled the suggestion as unworthy, ignoble. Whether 
the giver was ever thanked, she did not know. Dr. Derwent 
kept cold silence on the subject, after once mentioning it to 
her in formal words. Thanks, undoubtedly, were due to him. 
To-night it pained her keenly to think that perhaps her father 
had said nothing. 

She began to study Russian, and in secret ; her impulse 
dark, or so obscurely hinted that it caused her no more than a 
moment's reverie. Looking back, she saw but one explanation 
of the energy, the zeal which had carried her through these 
labours. It shone clear on the day when a letter from Helen 
BorisofF told her that an article in a Russian review, just 
published, bore the name of Piers Otway. Thence onward, 
she was frank with herself She recognised the meaning of the 
intellectual process which had tended to harmonise her life 
with that she im^ned for her ideal man. There came a 
prompting of emotion, and she wrote the letter which Piers 
received. 

All things were made new to her ; above all, her own self. 
She was acting in a way which was no result of balanced 
purpose, yet, as she perfectly understood, involved her in the 
gravest responsibilities. She had no longer the excuse which 
palhated her conduct eight years ago ; that heedlessness was 
innocent indeed compared with the blame she would now in- 
cur, if she excited a vain hope merely to prove her feelings, to 
read another chapter of life. Solemnly in this charmed still- 
ness of midnight, she searched her heart. It did not fail under 
question. 

A morning sleep held her so much later than usual thai, 
before she had left her chamber, letters were brought to the 
door by the child who waited upon her. On one envelope 
she saw the Doctor's handwriting; on the other that of her 
cousin, Mrs. Florio. Surprised to hear from Olga, with whom 
I she had had very httle communication for a year or two, she 
[opened that letter first. 



r 



316 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

" Dear Irene," it began, "something lias laielj' come to my 
knowledge which I think I am only doing a duty in acquaint 
ing you with. It is very unpleasant, but not the first un- 
pleasant piece of news that you and I have shared togethei. 
You remember all about Piers Otway and those letters of my 
poor mother's, which he said he bought for us from his horrid 
brother? Well, I find that he did not buy them — at all events 
that he never paid for them. Daniel Otway is now broken- 
down in health, and depends on help from the other brother, 
Alexander, who has gone in for some sort of music-hall 
business ! Not only did Piers cheat him out of the money 
promised for the letters {I fear there's no other word for it), but 
he has utterly refused to give the man a farthing — though in 
goad circumstances, I hear. This is all very disagreeable, and I 
don't like to talk about it, but as I hear Piers Otway has ' 
seeing you, it's better you should know," She added ' 
kind regards," and signed herself " yours affectionately." ' 
came a postscript. " Mrs. A. Otway is actually on the mi 
hall stage herself, in short skirts 1 " 

The paper shook in Irene's hand. She turned sick 
fear and misery. 

Mechanically the other letter was torn open. Dr. Deiwt 
wrote about Eustace's engagement. It did not exactly surpr^ 
him ; he had observed significant things. Nor did it exacdy 
displease him, for since talking with Eustace and with Marian 
Jacks (the widow), he suspected that the match was remark- 
able for its fitness, Mrs. Jacks had a large fortune — well, one 
could resign oneself to that, "After all, Mam'zelle Wren, 
there's nothing to be uneasy about. Arnold Jacks is sure to 
marry very soon (a dowager duchess, I should say), and 
that score there'll be no awkwardness. When the Wren makl 
a nest for herself, I shall convert this house into a 
laboratory, and be at home only to bacteria." 

But the Doctor, loo, had a postsctiptum. " Olga has been 
writing to me, sheer scandal, something about the letters you 
wot of having been obtained in a dishonest way. I won't say 
I believe it, or that I disbelieve it, I mention the thing only 
to suggest that perhaps I was right in not making any acknow- 
ledgment of that obligation. I felt that silence was the wise as 
well as the dignified thing — though someone disagreed with me.' 

U'hen Irene entered the sitting-room, her friend had I' 
since breakfasted, 



mv I 



gn m 
and I 

1 

r^ 

cdy 

irk- 
one 
■en, 

'^ 
1 



lOI^H 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 317 

"What's the matter ?" Helen asked, seeing so pale and 
(troubled a countenance. 

" Nothing much ; I overtired myself yesterday. I must keep 
"quiet for a little." 

Mrs. Borisoff herself was in no talkative frame of mind. 
She, too, an observer might have imagined, had some care or 
worry, The two very soon parted ; Irene going back to her 
room, Helen out into the sunshine. 

A malicious letter this of Olga's ; the kind of letter which 
Irene had not thought her capable of penning. Could there 
be any substantial reason for such hostile feeling ? Oh, how 
one's mind opened itself to dark suspicion, when once an evil 
whisper had been admitted ! 

She would not believe that story of duplicity, of baseness. 
Her very soul rejected it, declared it impossible, the basest 
calumny. Yet how it hurt ! How it humiliated ! Chiefly, 
perhaps, because of the evil art with which Olga had reminded 
her of Piers Otway's disreputable [kinsmen. Could the two 
elder brothers be so worthless, and the younger an honest, 
brave man, a man without reproach — her ideal ? 

Irene clutched at the recollection which till now she had 
preferred to banish from her mind. Piers was not bom of the 
same mother, might he not inherit his father's finer qualities, 
and, together witli them, something noble from the woman 
whom his father loved P Could she but know that history ! 
The woman was a law-breaker ; respectability gave her hard 
names ; but Irene used her own judgment in such matters, 
and asked only for knowledge of facts. She had as good as 
forgotten the irregularity of Piers Otway's birth. Whom, 
indeed, did it or could it concern ? Her father, least of all 
men, would dwell upon it as a subject of reproach. But her 
father was very capable of pointing to Daniel and to Alexander, 
with a shake of the head. He had a prejudice against Piers— 
this letter reminded her of it only too well. It might be 
feared that he was rather glad than otherwise of the "sheer 
scandal " Olga had conveyed to him. 

Confident in his love of her, which would tell ill on the side 
o( his reasonableness, his justice, she had not, during these 
crucial days, thought much . bout her father. She saw his face 
now, if she spoke to him of Piers. Dr. Derwent, like all men 
of brains, had a good deal of the aristocratic temper ; he 
scorned the vulgarity of the vulgM ■, \\«. \ii-me.&. "v^ ^sv-'e^ 



3i8 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



\ 



impatience from such sorry creatures as those two n 
often lashed with his contempt the ignoble arnusemenl 
of the crowd. Olga doubtless had told him of the singer j 
short skirts — j 

She shed a few tears. The very meanness of the injoi 
done her at this crisis of emotion heightened its cruelty, i 

Piers might come to the Castle this morning. Now a 
then she glanced from her window, if perchance she shou 
see him approaching ; but all she saw was a group of holidi 
makers, the happily infrequent tourists who cared to turn fro 
the beaten track up the dale to visit the Castle. Shfe did a 
know whether Helen was at home, or had rambled away. 
Piers came, and his call was annoimced to her, could she ■ 
forth and see him? 

Not to do so, would be unjust, both to herself and to h 
The relations between them demanded, of all things, hones 
and courage. No little course, it was true; for she 
speak to him plainly of things from which she shrank even 3 
communing with herself. 

Vet she had done as hard a thing as this. Harder, perhap 
that interview with Arnold Jacks which set her free. Hones ^ 
and courage — clearness of sight and strength of purpose whei 
all but every girl would have drifted dumbly the common way 
— had saved her life from the worst disaster : saved, too, the 
man whom her weakness would have wronged. Had she not 
learnt the lesson which life sets before all, but which only a 
few can grasp and profit by ? 

Towards midday she left her room, and went in search i 
Helen ; not finding her within doors, she stepped out on to tl 
sward, and strolled in the neighbourhood of the Castle. 
child whom she knew approached her. 

"Have you seen Mrs. Borisoff?" she asked. 

"She's down at the beck, with the gentleman," answer 
the little girl, pointing with a smile to the deep, Ieaf-hid<u 
glen half a mile away. 

Irene lingered for a few minutes and went in again. 

At luncheon-time Helen had not returned, The meal w 
delayed for her, more than a quarter of an hour. When |j 
length she entered, Irene saw she had been hastening; I 
Helen's features seemed to betray some other cause I 
discomposure than mere unpunctuality. Having glanced i 
her once or twice, Irene Ve^t au wtA^A ta.ce. Neither s] 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



319 



t they sat down to table 1 only when they had begun the 

l1 did Helen ask whether her friend felt better. The reply 

s a brief affirmative. For the rest of the time ihey talked a 

, absently, about trivialities ; then they parted ; without 

my arrangement for the afternoon. 

Irene's mind was in that state of perilous commotion which 
pvests with dire significance any event not at once intelligible. 
Jone in her chamber, she sat brooding with tragic counte- 
fcce. How could Helen's behaviour be explained? If she 
i met Biers Otway and spent part of the morning with him, 
fty did she keep silence about it ? Why was she so late in 
liming home, and what had heightened her colour, given that 
Icculiar shiftiness to her eyes ? 
I She rose, went to Helen's door, and knocked. 
L"May I come in?" 
" Of course. — I have a letter to write by post-time," 
"I won't keep you long," said Irene, standing before her 
md's chair, and regarding her with grave earnestness. " Did 
■- Otway call this morning?" 

was coming; I met him outside, and told him you 
leren't very well. And " — she hesitated, but went on with a 
"rder voice and a careless smile— "we had a walk up the 
It's very lovely, the higher part. You must'go. Ask 
Q to take you." 

" I don't understand you," said Irene coldly. " Why 
lould I ask Mr- Otway to take me?" 
" I beg your pardon. You are become so critical of words 
md phrases. "To take us, I'll say." 
"'That wouldn't be a very agreeable walk, Helen, whilst you 
'^ this strange mood- What does it all mean? I never 
' the possibility of misunderstandings such as this 
n us. Is it I who am to blame, or you? Have I 
aided you ? " 
f"No, dear," was the dreamy response. 

"Then why do you seem to wish to quarrel with me?" 
[ Helen had the look of one who strugglingly overcomes a 
roxysm of anger. She stood up. 

"Would you leave me alone for a little, Irene? I'm not 
lute able to talk. I think we've both of us been doing too 
luch — overtaxing ourselves. It has got on my nerves." 
"Yes, I will go," was the answer, spoken very quietly. 
I" And to-morrow morning I will return IQ \.ou6o\v" 



320 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

She moved away. 

" Irene ! " 

"Yes—?" 

" I have something to tell you before you go." Helen spoke 
with a set face, forcing herself to meet her friend's eyes. " Mr. 
Otway wants an opportunity of talking with you, alone. He 
hoped for it this morning. As he couldn't see you, he talked 
about you to me — you being the only subject he could talk 
about. I promised to be out of the way if he came this 
afternoon." 

" Thank you — but why didn't you tell me this before ? " 

" Because, as I said, things have got rather on my nerves." 
She took a step forward. " Will you overlook it — ^forget about 
it ? Of course I should have told you before he came." 

" It's strange that there should be anything to overlook or 
forget between «j," said Irene, with wide pathetic eyes. 

"There isn't really! It's not you and I that have got 
muddled — only things, circumstances. If you had been a 
little more chummy with me. There's a time for silence, but 
also a time for talking." 

" Dear, there are things one catCt talk about, because one 
doesn't know what to say, even to oneself." 

" I know ! I know it ! " replied Helen, with emphasis. 

And she came still nearer, with hand held out. 

" All nerves, Irene ! Neuralgia of — of the common sense, 
my dear ! " 

They parted with a laugh and a quick clasp of hands. 



CHAPTER XXXVII 

FOR half an hour Irene sat idle. She was waiting, and 
could do nothing but wait Then the uncertainty as 
to how long this suspense might hold her grew insufferable ; 
she was afraid, too, of seeing Helen again, and having to talk, 
when talk would be misery. A thought grew out of her un- 
rest — a thought clear-shining amid the tumult of turbid 
emotions. She would go forth to meet him. He should 
see that she came with that purpose — that she put away all 
trivialities of prescription and of pride. If he were worthy, 
only the more would he esteem her. If she deluded herself — 
it lay in the course of Fate. 

His way up from Redmire was by the road along which she 
had driven on the evening of her arrival, the road that dipped 
into a wooded glen, where a stream tumbled amid rocks and 
boulders, over smooth-worn slabs and shining pebbles, from 
the moor down to the river of the dale. He might not come 
this way. She hoped — she trusted Destiny. 

She stood by the crossing of the beck. The flood of yester- 
day had fallen ; the water was again shallow at this spot, but 
nearly all the stepping-stones had been swept away. For help 
at such times, a crazy little wooden bridge spanned the current 
a few yards above. Irene brushed through the long grass and 
the bracken, mounted on to the bridge, and, leaning over the 
old bough which formed a rail, let the voice of the beck soothe 
her impatience. 

Here one might linger for hours, in perfect solitude ; very 
rarely in the day was this happy stillness broken by a footfall, 
a voice, or the rumbling of a peasant's cart. A bird twittered, 
a breeze whispered in the branches ; ever and ever the water 
kept its hushing note. 

But now someone was coming. Not with audible footstep ; 
not down the road at which Irene frequently glanced; the 
intruder approached from the lowei ^axt oi >Jafc ^^xv^ ^^-w;^ 

21 



32a 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 



the beck-side, now walking in soft herbage, now striding 
stone to stone, sometimes Ufting the bough of a hazel or a n 
that hung athwart his path. He drew near to the crossi 
He saw the figure on the bridge, and for a moment st( 
at gaze. 

Irene was aware of someone regarding her. She mon 
He stood below, the ripple-edge of the water touching his fo 
Upon his upturned face, dark eyes wide in joy and admirat' 
firm lips wistfully subduing their smile, the golde 
shimmered through overhanging foliage. She spoke. 

" Everything around is beautiful, but this most of all. 

"There is nothing more beautiful," he answered, "in all d« 
dales." 

The words had come to her easily and naturally, after so 
much trouble as to what the first words should be. His look 
was enough. She scorned her distrust, scorned the malicious 
gossip that had excited it Her mind passed into consonance 
with the still, warm hour, with the loveliness of all about her. 

"I haven't been that way yet," She pointed up the glen, 
"Will you come?" 

" Gladly ! I was here with Mrs. Borisoff this morning, and 
wished so much you had been with us." 

Irene stepped from the bridge down to the beck-side, 
briefest shadow of annoyance had caused her to turn her face 
away ; there followed contentment that he spoke of the morning,,, 
at once and so frankly. She was able to talk without restra' 
uttering her delight at each new picture as they went alo 
They walked very slowly, ever turning to admire, stopping! 
call each other's attention with glowing words. At a ceils 
point, they were obliged to cross the water, their progress diT 
this side barred by natural obstacles. It was a crossing of 
some little difBculty for Irene, the stones being rugged, anti 
rather far apart ; Piers guided her, and at the worst spot lield 
out his hand. 

" Jump ! I won't let you fall." 

She sprang with a happy girlish laugh to his side, and 
drew her hand very gently. 

" Here is a good place to rest," she said, seating herself 
a boulder. And Piers sat down at a little distance. 

The bed of the torrent was full of great stones, very wt 
rounded and smoothed by the immemorial flow, by ll 
tumbiing and grinding, vn. ^Yiaft cS. «^aSa\ \.Uei formed 



j; 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 333 

numerable little cataracts, with here and there a broad plunge 
of foam-streaked water, perilously swift and deep. By the 
bank, the current spread into a large, still pool, of colour a 
rich brown where the sunshine touched it, and darkly green 
where it lay beneath spreading branches ; everywhere limpid, 
showing the pebbles or the sand in its cool depths. Infinite 
were the.varyings of light and shade, from a dazzling gleam 
on the middle water, to the dense obscurity of leafy nooks. 
On either hand was a wood, thick with undergrowth; 
great pines, spruces and larches, red-berried rowans, crowd- 
ing on the steep sides of the ravine ; trees of noble stature, 
shadowing fern and flower, towering against the sunny blue, 
'ust below the spot where Piers and Irene rested, a great 
ichened hazel stretched itself all across the beck; in the 
(ward direction a narrowing vista, filled with every tint of 
tfage, rose to the brown of the moor and the azure of the 
y. Alt about grew tall, fruiting grasses, and many a bright 
»wer ; clusters of pink willow-weed, patches of yellow rag- 
Xt, the perfumed meadowsweet, and, amid bracken and 
amble, the purple shining of a great campanula. 
On the open moor, the sun blazed with parching heat; 
tre was freshness as of spring, the waft of cool airs, the 
scent of verdure moistened at the root. 

Once upon a time," said Otway, when both had been 
listening to their thoughts, "I fancied myself as unlucky a 
man as walked the earth. I've got over that." 

Irene did not look at him ; she waited for the something 
else which his voice promised. 

Think of my good fortune in meeting you this afternoon. 
If I had gone to the Castle another way, I should have missed 
you ; yet I all but did go by the fields. And there was 
nothing I desired so much as to see you somewhere — by 
yourself." 

The slight failing of his voice at the end helped Irene to 
speak collectedly. 

" Chance was in my favour, too. I came down to the beck, 
hoping I might meet you." 

She saw his hand move, the fingers clutch together. Before 
he could say anything, she continued. 

" I want to tell you of an ill-natured story that has reached 
my ears. Not to discuss it; I know it is untrue- Yottsfewc* 
brothers — do you know that they speaV. sp\\.e,Wi.'5 tA •jwi.'^''^ 



r 



334 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

" I didn't know it. I don't think I have given them cause." 

" I'm very sure you haven't. But I want you to know 
about it, and I shall tell you the facts. — After the death of 
my aunt, Mrs. Hannaford, you got from the hands of Daniel 
Otway a packet of her letters ; he bargained with you, and you 
paid his price, wishing those letters to be seen by my father 
and my cousin Olga, whose minds they would set at rest. 
Now, Daniel Otway is telling people that you never paid 
the sum you promised him, and that, being in poverty, he 
vainly applies to you for help." 

She saw his hand grasp a twig that hung near him, and drag 
it rudely down ; she did not look at his face. 

"I should have thought," Piers answered, with grave com- 
posure, "that nothing Daniel Otway said could concern me. 
I see it isn't so. It must have troubled you, for you to speak 
of it." 

" It has ; I thought about it. I rejected it as a falsehood," 

"There's a double falsehood. I paid him the price he 
asked, on the day he asked it, and I have since" — he 
checked himself — "I have not refused him help in his 
poverty." 

Irene's heart glowed within her. Even thus, and not 
otherwise, would she have desired him to refute the slander. 
It was a test she had promised herself; she could have 
laughed for joy. Her voice betrayed this glad emotion. 

"Let him say what he will; it doesn't matter now. But 
how comes it that he is poor?" 

"That I should like to know." Piers threw a pebble into 
the still, brown water near him. "Kve years ago, he came 
into a substantial sum of money. I suppose — it went veiy 
quickly. Daniel is not exactly a prudent man," 

"I imagine not," remarked Irene, allowing herself a gh 
of his countenance, which she found to be less calm than 
tone. "Let us have done with him. — Five years ago, 
added, with soft accents, "some of that money ought to have 
been yours, and you received nothing," 

" Nothing was legally due to me," he answered, in a voict 
lower than hers. J| 

"That I know. I mention it — you will forgive meM 
because I have sometimes feared that you might explain fl 
yourself wrongly my failure to reply when you sent me ibM 
verses, long ago. 1 have, l\io\i^t, lateW, that you mifl 



'J 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 325 

suppose I knew certain facts at that time. I didn't ; I only 
learnt them afterwards. At no time would it have made any 
difference." 

Piers could not speak. 

" Look ! " said Irene, in a whisper, pointing. 

A great dragon-fly, a flash of blue, had dropped on to the 
surface of the pool, and lay floating. As they watched, it rose, 
to drop again upon a small stone amid a shallow current; 
half in, half out of, the sunny water, it basked. 

" Oh, how lovely everything is ! " exclaimed Irene, in a 
voice that quivered low. " How perfect a day ! " 

"It was weather like this when I first saw you," said Piers. 
" Earlier, but just as bright. My memory of you has always 
lived in sunshine. I saw you first from my window; you 
were standing in the garden at Ewell: I heard your voice. 
Do you remember telling the story of Thibaut Rossignol?" 

" Oh yes, yes ! " 

" Is he still with your father?" 

"Thibaut? Why, Thibaut is an institution, I can't 
imagine our house without him. Do you know that he 
always calls me Mademoiselle Irfene?" 

" Your name is beautiful in any language. I wonder how 
many times I have repeated it to myself? And thought, too, 
so often of its meaning ; longed, for that — and how vainly ! " 

" Say the name — now," she faltered. 

" Irene ! — Irene ! " 

" Why, you make music of it ! I never knew how musical 
it sounded. — Hush ! Look at that thing of light and air ! " 

The dragon-fly had flashed past them. This way and that 
it darted above the shining water, then dropped once more, 
to float, to sail idly with its gossamer wings. 

Piers stole nearer. He sat on a stone by her side, 

"Irene!" 

"Yes. I like the name when you say it." 

"May I touch your hand?" 

Still gazing at the dragon-fly, as if careless of what she did,. \ 
she held her hand to him. Piers folded it in both his own, 

" May I hold it as long as I hve ? " 

" Is that a new thought of yours ? " she asked, in a voice 
that shook as it tried to suggest laughter in her mind. 

"The newest! The most daring and the most glorious I 
ever had." 



r 



3*6 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

"Why, then I have been mistaken," she said softly, for 
instant meeting his eyes. " I fancied I owed you somethi 
for a wrong I did, without meaning it, more than eight ya 
gone by." 

"That thought had come to you?" Piers exclaimed, w; 
eyes gleaming. 

" Indeed it had. I shall be more than half sorry if I h« 
to lose it," 

" How foolish I was ! AVhat wild, monstrous fol]y 
could you have dreamt for a moment that such a one as I w 
could dare to love you ? — Irene, you did me no wrong. Yt 
gave me the ideal of my life — something I should never lo 
from my heart and mind — something to live towards ! N 
a hope; hope would have been madness, 1 have loved y( 
without hope ; loved you because I had found the only cu 
I could love — the one I must love — on and on to the end." 

She laid her free hand upon his that clasped the othe 
and bowed him lo her reasoning mood. 

" Let me speak of other things— that have to be made pli 
between you and me. First of all, a piece of news. I ha 
just heard that my brother is going to marry Mrs. John Jack: 

Piers was mute with astonishment. It was so long sin 
he had seen Mrs. 'Jacks, and he pictured her as a worn) 
much older than Eustace Derwent. His clearest reco!lecti< 
of her was that remark she made at the luncheon-table abO 
the Irish, that they were so " sentimental " ; it had blum 
her beauty and her youth in his remembrance. 

"Yes, Eustace is going to marry her; and I shouldn 
wonder if the marriage turns out well. It leads to th 
disagreeable thing I have to talk about. — You know ih 
I engaged myself to Arnold Jacks, I did so freely, thinkii 
I did right. When the time of the marriage drew near, 
had learnt that I had done wrong. Not that I wished 
be the wife of anyone else. I loved nobody ; I did n 
love the man I was pretending to. As soon as I kn{ 
that — what was I to do? To marry bim was a crime — 1 
less a crime for its being committed every day. I took n 
courage in both hands. I told him I did not love hil 
I would not marry him. And— I ran away." 

The memory made her bosom heave, her cheeks flush. 

" Magnificent ! " commented the listener, with a hapj 
smile. 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 327 

Ah ! but I didn't do it very well. I treated him badly — 
yes, inconsiderately, selfishly. The thing had to be done 
— but there were ways of doing it. Unfortunately I had got 
to resent my captivity, and I spoke to him as if he were 
to blame. From the point of view of delicacy, perhaps he 
was; he should have released me at once, and that he 
wouldn't. But 1 was too little regardful of what it meant 
to him — above a!!, to his pride. I have so often reproached 
myself. I do it now for the last time. There ! " She 
picked up a pebble to fling away. "It is gone! We speak 
of the thing no more." 

A change was coming upon the glen. The sun had 
it shone now only on the tree-tops. But the sky 
above was blue and warm as ever. 

Another thing," she pursued, more gravely. "My 
:father " — 

Piers waited a moment, then said with eyes downcast : 
"He does not think well of me?" 
That is my grief, and my trouble. However, not a 

ious trouble. Of you, personally, he has no dislike ; 

was quite the opposite when he met youj when you 
t our house — you remember ? He said things 
'of you I am not going to repeat, sir. It was only after 
the disaster which involved your name. Then he grew 
prejudiced." 

" Who can wonder ? " 

" It will pass over. My father is no stage-tyrant. If kt 
is not open to reason, what man living is? And no man 
has a tenderer heart. He was all kindness and forbearance 
and understanding when I did a thing which might well 
have made him angry. Some day you shall see the letter 
he wrote me, when I had run away to Paris. In it, he 
spoke, as never to me before, of his own marriage — of 
his love for my mother. Every word remains in my memory, 
but I can't trust my voice to repeal them, and perhaps I 
ought not — even to you." 

" May I go to him, and speak for myself? " 

" Yes — but not till I have seen him." 

"Can't I spare you that?" said Piers, in a voice which, 
for the first time, sounded his triumphant manhood. "Do 
you think I fear a meeting with your father, ot doubt of 
its result? If 1 had gone meteiy on to^ cinstv ■aK.«ivss*^ 



¥ 



i 



328 THE CROWN OF LIFE 

to try to remove his prejudice and win his regard, it 
have been a different thing; indeed, I coutd never hai 
done that; I felt loo keenly his reasons for disliking m 
But now ! In what man's presence should I shrink, ai 
feel myself unworthy? You have put such words into a 
heart as will gain my cause for me the moment they s 
spoken. 1 have no false shame — no misgivings. I shi 
speak the truth of myself and you, and your father w 
hear me." 

Irene listened with the love-light in her hazel eyes ; tl 
face she turned upon him brought back a ray of sunshii 
to the slowly shadowing glen, 

"I wil! think till to-morrow," she said. "Come to tl 
Castle to-morrow morning, and I shall have settled mai 
things. But now we must go; Helen will wonder wh 
has become of me; I didn't tell her I was going out" 

He bent over her hand; she did not withdraw it fro 
him as they walked through the bracken, and beneath ti 
green boughs, and picked their way over the white stoa 
of the rushing beck. 

At the road, they parted. 

An hour after sunset. Piers was climbing the hillsii 
towards the Castle, now a looming shape against a si 
still duskily purpled from the west. He climbed slovH 
doubting at each step whether to go nearer, or to wa' 
his hand and turn. Still, he approached. In the cottagi 
a few lights were seen; but no one moved; there was t 
voice, His own footstep on the sward fell soundless. 

He stood before the tower which was inhabited, and looki 
at the dim-lighted windows. To the entrance led a loi 
flight of steps, and, as he gazed through the gloom, I 
seemed to discern a figure standing there, before the dot 
way. He was not mistaken ; the figure moved, descende 
Motionless, he saw it turn towards him. Then he kn* 
the step, the form; he sprang forward. 

" Irene ! " 

"You have come to say good-night? See how our though 
chime ; I guessed you would." 

Her voice had a soft, caressing tremor; her hand sour 
his. 

"Irene! Youha.ve^wtnmeti'ivft-sVxfe^a.uew soul!" 



THE CROWN OF LIFE 329 

Her lips were near as she answered him. 
" Rest from your sorrows, my dearest. I love you ! 
I love you!" 

He was alone again in the darkness, on the hillside. He 
heard the voice of the far-off river, and to his rapturous 
mood it sounded as a moaning, brought a sudden sadness. 
All at once, he thought amid his triumph of those unhappy 
ones whom the glory of love would never bless ; those, men 
and women, bom to a vain longing such as he had known, 
doomed to the dread solitude from which he by miracle 
had been saved. His heart swelled, and his eyes were hot 
with tears. 

But as he went down to the dale, the calm of the silent 
hour crept over him. He whispered the beloved name, and 
it gave him peace ; such peace as follows upon the hallowing 
of a profound passion, justified of reason, and proof under 
the hand of time. 



THE END 



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